


A Simple Favor

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Its the mafia babey, M/M, Mugging, Murder, No Beta, Organized Crime, Self-Indulgent, im so bad at tagging, mafia/gangs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24025750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tony opened his hands, gesturing freely. “What can I do for you?” He watched the kid fidget in the seat. He was looking very pointedly not at Tony’s eyes, instead looking somewhere over his shoulder. Of course, Tony was expecting he ask for money, or maybe an entry to some fancy school, something along those lines. Something that would better their situation.He was absolutely not expecting Peter to say, “I need you to kill someone.”-Peter finds himself faced with the leader of a very notorious crime group after a chance encounter. No shit he's gonna take advantage of his situation.{INDEFINITE HIATUS: I literally have zero motivation but I don't want to abandon this}
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 50
Kudos: 324
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Peter had never expected anything to happen to him. A lot of stuff happened in general, to other people, but himself? No, nothing would ever happen to Peter personally. He thought he would just live an average, normal life like an average, human being, get promoted at his job and find a wife and have kids and maybe live in the suburbs or something. But no.

God said fuck that.

The death of his normal life began on a very regular albeit rainy afternoon. He had been working since early in the morning, and he supposed the exhaustedness of being up so early was the reason he had left his entire jacket in the cafe. He was already more than halfway home when he realized, and he had to double all the way back to get it. His keys were in the pocket, and no keys meant no getting into his apartment, and no apartment meant no nap. That was enough motivation to go back. 

On his way back, he passed some cops that were walking down the sidewalk, looking like they hadn’t a care in the world. He wondered if they were off-duty, but why would they be in uniform if they were off-duty, Peter? Never mind. He smiled at them in greeting, but neither of them smiled back. He tried not to take it personally, since it was a big city and it wasn’t like he knew either of them personally, but still, the absence of any acknowledgement made his stomach churn in a way that was _much_ too serious for the situation. He still couldn’t help but overthink it, as he did most things. Was it dumb to have smiled in the first place? Would a nod have been better? Should he not have greeted them at all? He second guessed himself all the way back and through the coffeeshop, back out to the sidewalk where he paused to make sure his keys were in the pocket before he went any further.

His fingers curled around the cold metal and he breathed a sigh of relief, looking up and noticing a pair of figures in the alley beside the store. His brain didn’t catch up quick enough, and all he _really_ wanted to do in that moment was turn around and head home, and not stop moving until he was curled in bed in the dark so he could nap. Maybe that’s what incited him to say; “the police are walking this way, so… just so you know,”; and turn and start walking back toward home. He didn’t know what those guys were doing, whether it was even something illegal or not, but he didn’t think to care as he got back to his apartment.

It had been a month since the incident (could it even be called that?) and Peter had pretty much forgotten all about it. He’d told Ned and MJ when they had dinner that evening, and they thought it was absolutely hilarious, of course Peter would stumble upon a drug deal. That’s what they assumed it was, since alleys were apparently the prime location for such a meeting.

He’d mentioned coming upon a drug deal to May, and had subsequently been lectured about being safe and aware of his surroundings, and Peter had to remind her that he was 20 years old, he wasn’t a baby, and it’s not like he approached and _bought_ the drugs, he just saw it happen. The reassurance calmed May’s nerves, and they ordered Chinese takeout. 

The reassurance also seemed to have calmed whatever nerves Peter might have felt, because he went on to forget about it. Just another day in the life of a New Yorker, he supposed. It wasn’t until a month later, when it was brought back to his attention in a frankly appalling manner. 

He was working a night shift at the coffee shop. He loved working the nightshift, because the only people who really came in were druggies and people with interesting lives, and even then those customers were few and far between. Employees of the night shift were allowed to drink as much coffee as they wanted, and everything was just so quiet.

He hated the night shift for the same reasons. It was lonely, and it was so quiet that sometimes it was just plain creepy. It wasn’t any better when the only person who was around was someone coked up, and even though there was a safe distance between him behind the counter and the person slumped on one of the tables munching on a donut, his nerves wouldn’t shut up.

That particular nightshift, however, had been the quietest night in the world. He’d had one lady come in just for a coffee before she went to her own graveyard shift, he assumed, and since then there was no one. It was two in the morning, he still had four hours to go, and he was _bored._ He had nothing to do but drink coffee and play on his phone, which he tried to do under the radar just in case someone did come in. Which he wasn’t counting on.

He must have been zoning out or something, because when the door did open and the bell jingled the arrival, he just about jumped out of his skin. He really hadn’t expected anyone to show up. He set his phone down and stood up, smoothing down the navy colored apron as he rushed out to the front of the counter to greet the customer.

And oh, what a customer it was.

The man was unlike anyone Peter had ever seen while working the nightshift. This was the kind of man that came in during the day, on his way to work in one of the skyscrapers with mirrored windows that reflected the sunshine. The kind of man who was on the phone when he came in and didn’t put down the phone all the way through ordering and paying and receiving and leaving. A CEO type, if you will. A rich CEO type. He was certainly dressed for the part, too. An expensive looking suit in the color of charcoal, sunglasses that cost more than Peter’s rent, probably. Not only that, but this guy was followed by a man who was just as tall but twice as wide. The guy behind him had a ridiculously broad chest, and oh god, Peter could see his muscles, and his biceps were huge, and-

“Peter?”

He snapped out of it, looking at the first man. He’s the one who’d spoken, and Peter realized with a jolt he’d spoken his name. His name, how did he know his name? He hesitated, and he must have looked spooked, or at least a little bit concerned, because the man smirked a little and motioned. “You’re wearing a nametag.”

Peter looked down and sure enough, there was his name, pinned to the apron. His face flushed, but he tried to shake it off and gave the duo a smile. “Right. It’s been a long night,” he said, a bit jokingly, before he cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “What can I get for you?”

Only the rich man got a coffee, Peter noticed to himself as he turned to make the coffee. It was a plain old coffee, with one creamer. Usually Peter could tell something about a person based on their coffee order (come on, he works with coffee for a living), but as he turned to hand the man the cup, he was still as much of a mystery than when he first walked in. It was disarming, and maybe a little attractive. But maybe that had something to do with the man’s physical appearance and less the fact that Peter didn’t know a single thing about him. He didn’t know a single thing about either of them, obviously, and he didn’t know what to think at all when the rich man sat at the bar and the other, broad-chested man merely stood a step behind him, arms crossed. 

Not the kind of dynamic most friend groups had, but it was alright. Peter took it in stride. Maybe they were actors. Or pranksters. Whatever. It wasn’t his place to judge.

He turned to start wiping the counters, just for something to do while this guy sat and drank his coffee and _stared_ at him. That was weird too. They weren’t talking to each other, the two men, but instead just staring at Peter. He tried not to think about it, tried to ignore it, but when two (very attractive) men’s eyes are boring into you, you can feel it.

He didn’t know how long it had been when the rich man cleared his throat. Peter glanced over his shoulder at him, faltering in his very concentrated motions of wiping the front of the espresso machine. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, the man smiled a little at him.

“You are Peter Parker, aren’t you?”

The question took him by complete surprise, and then that surprise turned to confusion and concern and yeah, maybe a little bit of fear. “Excuse me?”

“You are Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Peter weighed his options. He wasn’t sure why this guy knew his full name, or what he wanted. He didn’t know anything at all, actually. He was completely in the dark. So that was a disadvantage. It was also a disadvantage that he was like, half these guys’ size. He really wasn’t sure what else to do but nod slightly. Maybe they weren’t going to kill him. It was important to stay positive.

The rich man smiled. “Good. Then I am to understand that you were the sweet thing that tipped off some of my men that the police were about to come upon them. Correct?”

Oh, his head was spinning as he raced to keep up with what this guy was saying. “Uh… oh, oh shit, you mean that drug deal?” he said weakly, his fingers tightening around the damp, dirty cloth he was holding.

This was met with laughter, amused and quiet. “Is that what you thought it was?”

“Um, I… yeah. What else could it have been?” Well, that was slightly concerning. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know what it actually was that they were doing. “Actually, nevermind. Um… yeah, I guess I… I didn’t mean to… I just mentioned it, actually. The police.” He was talking a lot, he noticed, and he forced his mouth to close, glancing back at the men nervously. What were they going to do?

“Well, Mr Parker. Your mentioning the police saved my guys - saved me - a lot of problems. So, I’m here to say thank you.”

“Thank you? I mean… you’re welcome. But I didn’t really… mean, anything.” 

The man seemed to brush over his deflecting, standing up even though he couldn’t have finished his coffee yet. He looked over the interior of the coffee shop and smiled a little, though Peter couldn’t tell what he was smiling about. “If you ever need anything, Parker, say something. I’m always watching.”

Peter wasn’t sure he really liked the thought of that. “You’re what? I don’t - I mean, I don’t even know who you are, I don’t want you watching… me, or anything. That’s kind of creepy.”

The man laughed, lifting his sunglasses, shooting him a winning smile. A very charming smile. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Starks before, sweetheart.”

Something in Peter’s head clicked, and his heart leapt into his throat. How hadn’t he realized? _Recognized_ the face that had on many occasions been printed on the cover of newspapers detailing some vicious crime. “Tony Stark?” He whispered, eyes wide. 

This only made him smile wider, until wolfish was the only word that could describe it. “I’ll see you around, Peter,” he promised, definitely not a promise Peter wanted him to keep, and then he and the other guy, bodyguard or something maybe, stepped out of the store, leaving Peter alone and unsettled. He felt like he was going to puke. He had to sit down. 

Tony wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when Bucky told him about the tip-off. He was worried it could have been a ruse, or _something,_ because realistically, who saw a murder in some dark alleyway and not actually notify the police, who were meters away? It had to have been a trick. Tony wouldn’t believe otherwise. 

Until he actually got the file of the kid who’d done it. 

Peter Parker, a pretty much broke 20-year-old who overworked himself. On the surface, there was zero way he would be affiliated in any way with a gang or anything of the sort. It was mind-boggling. Appearances aren't everything, but they sure as hell are something, and this 5-foot-something boy who wore baggy sweaters and had his nose in something science-related half the time certainly did not fit the mold for your average gang member. Still, it was hard to be sure, so naturally he got one of his guys to tail the kid for a week, then two weeks, and there was nothing remotely suspicious or concerning about him.

Well, Tony was concerned, but for a different reason. 

No, he wasn’t ‘catching feelings’, as Clint had teased him. He was just… he didn’t know. He didn’t like to dwell on emotions he couldn’t name. Often in this situation he would just take a bottle to bed and by morning he would have forgotten all about his little problem. Several bottles later, he realized Peter Parker was not a problem who would be drowned in booze, no matter the alcohol percentage.

The kid was poor. There wasn’t a nice word for it. He was _poor_ . He and his aunt (who was a bombshell, Tony had to admit he saw where Peter got his looks. Even if they weren’t blood related.) both worked tirelessly, but their apartment was tiny and very rundown, and it hurt Tony to think of Peter Parker living there. Even though he’d never admit it. So, he did what he swore never to do and instead of threatening Peter’s silence, he offered him something in return. A favor. Maybe not the smartest idea, as was made clear to him by Nat _and_ Clint _and_ Bucky _and_ anyone else he could stand to have in his office, but an idea nonetheless. 

He couldn’t imagine what Peter would ask of him. He wasn’t sure if it would be money-related or school-related. In all honesty, he couldn’t think of anything _else_ Peter would ask him. He was pretty (very pretty) and smart (very smart), and Tony hated to say it, but he was kind of desperate, too. He knew how hard the kid was working to get him and his aunt more money so they wouldn’t be kicked out of their apartment. He knew Peter knew how much money he had. There was barely a person in town who didn’t know how much money he had. This was his chance to get him and his aunt back on their feet.

So imagine his surprise when they finally did hear from little Mr Parker. 

Tony honestly wasn’t sure how Peter got a hold of them. He hadn’t even been in the city when it happened. Natasha had taken care of it for him, and the morning he returned home, he stepped into his office to find the curly haired boy sitting in one of his chairs, though his eyes were glued to one of the bookshelves lining the walls. He was so in his head he didn’t seem to notice when Tony stepped in, despite Natasha and Bucky both standing to greet him.

He forced his eyes up to Bucky, so he missed the way the kid jumped when he cleared his throat. “Why are we in my office?” They weren’t allowed in his office when he wasn’t present. It was a basic _rule_. 

Bucky averted his eyes, which pleased Tony. At least he had the decency to be uncomfortable. “He insisted on waiting for you,” he said softly, motioning to Peter, who was now twisted in the chair, eyes trained on Tony. “He wouldn’t leave.”

Tony made eye contact with Peter, and to his surprise (and amusement), the kid didn’t look away immediately. He smirked and handed his jacket out, letting Natasha take it from him. He circled around the desk, and if he walked close enough to the chair to brush his hip against the boy’s shoulder, well, it was his office. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. He sat down, in his seat and let out a heavy breath, making sure everything was in its place on the surface before he looked at Peter, folding his hands in front of him. 

“So?”

“I… Mr Stark, um.” All of Peter’s bravado seems to have flown out the window. Tony didn’t bother to hide his smirk. He waited patiently as Peter took a deep breath and tried again. “You said if I needed anything, to… to say something. This is me saying something.”

Tony opened his hands, gesturing freely. “What _are_ you saying, Petey? What can I do for you?” He smiled, watching the kid fidget in the seat. He was looking very pointedly _not_ at Tony’s eyes, instead looking somewhere over his shoulder. Of course, he was expecting money, or maybe an entry to a school, something along those lines.

He was absolutely not expecting Peter to say, “I need you to kill someone.” 

He could tell, looking up at the others, that they did not expect it either. Natasha’s jaw clenched just in time to mask a smile, Clint’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and Bucky tilted his head back slightly, eyes locking with Tony’s before he looked back at Peter. The boy was looking at him with wide, earnest eyes, and Tony clenched his own jaw.

“Pardon?” He managed out, and Peter had the gall to look pleased with himself. He knew it wasn’t what Tony had expected him to say, and he was pleased with himself for it. Anybody else would be getting a gun between their teeth for this. On Peter, it was alarmingly adorable. 

“I don’t want to get into the backstory of it, but there is one guy. That I want dead.” Peter’s voice took on a cruel, cold tone, and it sounded wrong coming out of the soft pink lips (that Tony wanted to kiss).

“That’s quite the request, baby,” Tony said finally, leaning back in his seat and smirking across at Peter, who shifted in the seat, looking flushed and embarrassed, but oh so determined.

“You said _anything_.”

“Why do you want me to kill someone for you?” Peter huffed and crossed his arms, leaning back in his own chair, and Tony put his hands down. “Don’t give me sass, sweetheart. I’m not going to kill people for no reason. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t kill just anyone.”

Peter stared at Tony, and after a few minutes, once Tony assumed he wasn’t getting an explanation, he sighed and cleared his throat. “My uncle was killed by a mugger, and… I found the guy who did it, and I want him to feel what Uncle Ben felt,” he said in a quiet voice, his eyes dropping to his hands in his lap.

Tony watched Peter with an indeterminate emotion. He didn’t know how he felt. (He knew exactly how he felt, but he was not going to confront that shit.)

Just when he was convinced Peter might burst into tears, the kid looked up and sniffled a little, his face dry as could be. “So? I have all the information on him. I can tell you how to find him, and whatever you need, I can… I can… Will you do it?”

Behind Peter, Natasha shook her head slightly. Bucky was doing the same from the doorway, and he could physically feel Clint’s unease, since the guy was so damn expressive and open despite their line of work. Tony tilted his head, watching Peter, taking his time to respond, though he already knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Of course, Peter.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this chapter way shorter than the first one? yes  
> but trust me i puzzled over it for a while i really should try to have a plan for my stories before i start writing (and publishing) them but haha we throw that to the wind and instead we write on impulse

It was a while after their little meet cute with Peter Parker, and Tony had pretty much decided that yeah, they were gonna kill this guy as soon as possible. Not only for Peter, but because this guy was a grade-A dick in general. He regularly robbed old folk’s homes when he wasn’t doing general muggings on the side of the road. That’s what Tony told himself. It was not all for Peter. (it totally was.)

Peter was at the mansion again, sitting on his knees in the chair he’d pulled right up to Tony’s desk. He was leaned over it, in Tony’s space, and he couldn’t even bring himself to push him back, entranced by the way Peter was talking so seriously about this guy. He wasn’t even really listening to the kid. He’d have to get JARVIS to replay the entire meeting back to him.

Peter had come by with all the things he had collected on the guy, and was taking all this with a seriousness that had Tony’s heart (dick) swelling. Peter would do an impressive job in the gang. Not that Tony wanted him anywhere near the gangwork. Not for precious little Peter.

“You’re not even listening to me.”

Tony snapped out of it and looked up from the pictures Peter had so meticulously placed across his desk. “Huh? Of course I was listening to you.”

Peter rolled his eyes and sat back, smirking at Tony in a way that made his thoughts go real south. “No you weren’t,” he said, sounding smug. “For the past three minutes I’ve been telling you all about how this guy went to a movie with Godzilla, and then they both fucked King Kong.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “That’s really the story you went with?”

“It was very imaginative. I’m disappointed you weren’t listening.” Peter grinned and leaned closer again. “As I was saying-”

“As much as I would love to listen to you talk for the rest of my life, baby, I hate to tell you that I have other things I have to work on,” Tony said quickly, almost reaching up to touch Peter’s cheek, but he stopped himself at the last second. Professionalism.

He got an unimpressed raised eyebrow in response. “You don’t listen to me and then you don’t even bother letting me repeat myself?”

“Peter, I’m the leader of the underbelly of New York. I have work.”

“ _ Anthony,  _ you just wasted my entire morning. I skipped work for this meeting.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. Pretty much no one called him Anthony. No one was allowed. But he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at Peter, with the kid looking at him with a scowl. He let it drop for now. Though, he really couldn’t explain to himself why he wanted to hear it again. He tried to focus on the other things he’d said.

“You skipped work? Kid, you can’t skip  _ work  _ to discuss killing someone.”

“I can and I did. I need to avenge-”

“Uncle Ben. I know. But… jeez, Peter, I’d rather you work and support yourself than worry so much about this. I can take care of this, you don’t need to step with me every step of the way. I’d rather you didn’t, in fact.”

“I want to be. I want to see it happen, I want to be there, Tony, I need to be,” Peter said, and his voice was so earnest and pleading that Tony couldn’t help but acquiesce. Before he opened his mouth to agree, however, he heard voices in his head warning him about it, and he sighed.

“Why? Killing a person isn’t exactly a top source of entertainment, kid,” he warned, and he felt satisfied enough that he’d made a case against it so he could tell Bucky and the rest of them that he was not a pushover for cute twinks.

“Quit calling me kid, I’m twenty years old,” Peter replied, trying to deflect the question and succeeding entirely.

“And I’m in my forties, you’re a kid to me.” Tony grinned, basking in the glare Peter gave him. He looked like a kitten, no matter how mad he was trying to look. “You’re cute. But I’m being serious, Peter. Go to work. Don’t put your life on hold. Me and my guys can manage killing a street criminal and you can go back to living your sweet little life without having to worry about the guy. No matter who he killed.”

Peter stared at him for a while, arms crossed, still on his knees on the chair. Tony subconsciously noticed that he’d taken his shoes off before putting his feet on the cushion, and he had to smile a little bit. It was a cute little gesture. Also, Peter’s socks were printed with dogs, and it was kind of heart wrenchingly adorable.

“Fine. I’ll go back to work and live my life like normal. But I want to be there when you kill him.”

Tony looked up from Peter’s socks. “Murder isn’t entertainment. I don’t want to make you sit through watching me take someone’s life, Peter,” he said, frowning, a bit concerned. It was a dark request.

“You wouldn’t be making me do anything. I just asked you. It’s of my own volition.”

“Where’d you learn such big words?”

“Don’t change the subject, Anthony. I want to come. Let me come.”

God, Tony tried real hard not to think about Peter saying that in a different scenario. He tried  _ real _ hard. But it was very easy to imagine it. Peter was already on his knees, even if it wasn’t on the floor under his desk, and-

What was he doing? He was more than twice Peter’s age. Even if that weren’t an issue, he was a kingpin in the crime world. He couldn’t date Peter. That would put him at serious risk. That would expose him up to a lot of dangerous situations. Situations that no one should really be exposed to. He didn’t want that for the kid. God, he really was catching feelings. But that was a thought to be tackled at a later date. Right now, he had to convince Peter to not want to watch him kill a man.

“Listen. No matter how hot I may think it is that you are so willing to watch me murder someone, I’m not going to let you watch me murder someone. That’s a can of worms that I do not want to open to you. I’m not going to be responsible for messing up your brain.” 

If Peter caught the part where Tony inadvertently called him hot, he gracefully ignored it. “My brain’s already messed up, you won’t be doing anything to it that hasn’t been done before.”

“I’m not going to let you watch someone’s life be taken, Peter, that’s where I draw the line.”

“Come on, Tony, you’re not my dad. You’re not responsible for me, if I want to put myself in that situation, then it’s on me.”

“No, if I let you put yourself in that situation, a situation that I control, then I am responsible for what happens to you. If you come on a job with me, in my line of work, that makes me responsible for you like I would be responsible for any of my employees. If you got hurt, that would be my fault.”

“I wouldn’t get hurt! All I would be doing is watching you kill someone!” Peter sounded so blase about it that Tony almost let himself be blinded to the actual severity of the situation. Almost.

“Peter, no. I said no. It is not a topic that is up for debate. You are not coming with me, you are not watching me kill someone, you are going to leave here and forget you ever even asked me about this. Go back to work. Go back to Aunt May. Forget about it. I’ll deal with him and you can go on living your life like none of this ever happened.” It hurt to say it out loud, if he was going to be completely honest. He didn’t want Peter to forget about this. He certainly didn’t want to stop seeing him. He was going to hell.

He looked up to the boy, and he was surprised to see that Peter looked angry. Not hurt, or sad, or anything Tony expected him to be. He looked angry. “Fine.” Peter stood up, taking a moment to pull his sneakers back onto his feet. “Fine, that’s fine.”

Instead of turning and leaving, though, Peter leaned over the desk and gathered the papers up, shoving them haphazardly into the file holder he’d brought them in. “What are you doing?”

Peter grabbed the last picture and closed the binder, picking it up and holding it to his chest, looking at Tony’s face, making direct eye contact, looking a lot more pissed off than Tony expected. This kid was a total mystery.

“I wanted to see him die. I wanted to see him die like Uncle Ben died. I was hoping you would let me. If I don’t get to see this asshole suffer, then I don’t want him to suffer at all. I want him to know what he’s dying for, and I want him to know it was me. So, if you won’t let me do that, then I don’t want you to do it at all.” Peter was at the door by the time he was finished, and he grabbed the handle.

“Kid- Peter, wait,” Tony said, sounding a lot more frantic than he intended, but it was too late to mend it and try again. Peter didn’t stop, opening the door even as he looked back and met Tony’s eyes again, and he felt his mind go blank. He couldn’t think of anything to say to make this better.

“Goodbye, Mr Stark. It was nice meeting you.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have zero clue how jumping someone works
> 
> This chapter involves guns and shooting.

Peter didn’t let himself cry until he was home and in his room. He didn’t even want to cry. He was mad. He was angry. Angry at Tony, angry at himself, angry at the guy who killed Ben, angry at the world.

He thought it wasn’t fair that Tony wouldn’t let him come with. He sort of understood why, but it wasn’t like he was going to get hurt. He knew Tony had a lot of murders under his belt that had gone fine, why would this one be any different? It wasn’t like the guy was super dangerous. So why couldn’t Peter just stand by while Tony shot him? He didn’t need to hold a gun. He didn’t even need to touch it. He could be far enough away that he wouldn’t touch any blood. 

He knew Tony didn’t want to mess up his brain, but like he said. His brain was already messed up. He would be fine. He wanted this. He didn’t want to be protected.

He sighed and closed his curtains, wiping his eyes and sighing. The thought of Tony protecting him was surprisingly not one that he immediately rejected. He just didn’t want to be protected over this. It was his idea in the first place. He was twenty, not twelve. He’s experienced death before. Maybe not as close-up as this death would be, but still. It wasn’t anything he hasn’t experienced before.

So, he was on his own. That was okay. He didn’t need Tony. He had all the information he needed to get this guy. Yeah, it was much more risky to go about it on his own, but it was all he could do. Tony wasn’t going to honor his request even though it was  _ his _ favor, so, this was his other option. He wanted this guy to die. Now that he set his mind to it, it was really all he could focus on. Avenging Uncle Ben. 

He took the file that he’d shoved into his messenger bag, and spread all it’s contents out on the bed after pushing all his blankets back. May wasn’t home from work, so he was fine to do this for at least a few hours. He obviously didn’t want her to know what he was doing. She would never assent to it, but she also would absolutely never allow him to put himself in danger. He’d have to be careful going about this. It was alright when it was in Tony’s hands, because the Stark gang offered a cover of protection that doing this on his own didn’t offer. There was more of a risk he would be caught doing it on his own, so he had to be smart about it. It couldn’t be connected back to him. It would be bad enough for himself if he got caught and sent to jail, but it would also be bad for May, because she’d be alone to keep herself supported, and he knew that with their combined salaries they still struggled some months to make ends meet. So, being caught and taken away from her was not an option.

Still, Peter was optimistic. He was smart. He could do this. He just needed to use his brain.

Over the next two weeks, all of Peter’s spare time went toward working on his little case. He worked as much as possible, taking extra shifts when he could to be extra helpful to May, and whenever he wasn’t at work or eating with her, he would lock himself in his room and work his plan. 

He thought it was a pretty solid one. A lot of it would rely on chance, but it was the best Peter could do. He didn’t know what Tony would have done, but he knew it was a good chance it would include kidnapping the guy and killing him in a secure location where the chances of being caught or seen by someone would be very slim. Peter didn’t have anything like that. It was going to be a lot harder on his own, but there was no one he trusted enough to help him. This was a solo job.

Meanwhile, he knew that he was being watched. Tony was good, but not that good. He wasn’t so secretive that Peter didn’t know there wasn’t at least one of his men following Peter around at all times. It wasn’t always the same guy, and yeah, Peter couldn’t always tell who it was that was keeping an eye on him, but Peter knew. He supposed he was right to think that Tony wouldn’t drop him so easily, but as it was, he hadn’t received any form of contact from the older man. Just the guys tailing him around between the apartment and the coffee shop and wherever else he found himself.

He wondered if Tony knew he was going to try and get this guy on his own. Probably, since Peter hadn’t really tried to hide the significance this guy’s death would hold. That was also probably why he was being followed everywhere. Tony was going to try and intercept. The thought made him angry all over again. Who was Tony to decide what Peter did or didn’t do? It wasn’t like they knew each other that well. It was hard to believe that Tony even cared what Peter did, but if he didn’t, then why would he have been so against what Peter wanted out of the offered favor, and why would he insist on people following Peter around? It was infuriating. Peter was an adult, goddamnit, and he could and  _ would  _ do whatever he wanted. 

It was kind of a shock, then, when he woke up one morning to his phone ringing with an unknown caller ID. Not many people knew his phone number. No one did, in fact, other than May, MJ and Ned. So, despite knowing that this was almost certainly a scam call, he answered it because he’d just woken up and his brain was still warming up to function properly.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Is this Peter Parker?”

Peter frowned and sat up a bit. The voice was familiar. “Speaking.”

“Don’t kill that guy on your own, for god’s sake.”

“Tony? Tony Stark?” Silence on the other line, but Peter didn’t need verbal confirmation. Of course it was fricking Tony. “How do you have my number?”

“I have all your information, because I’m a mob boss, and I’m telling you  _ not  _ to go out and kill that fucking street criminal, Peter, are you stupid?” Yeah, it was Tony.

A lot of emotions coursed through Peter very quickly. Confusion. A bit of worry. Hurt. Maybe a flutter of something like admiration, maybe a tiny bit of excitement at hearing Tony’s voice again. But mainly, he focused on the hot anger that arose. “Why should I listen to you?”

The voice on the other line loud out a single laugh, an amazed sort of noise. “Why shouldn’t you? I know the ins and outs of crime, and if you go after that guy you  _ will  _ be caught and you  _ will _ go to jail.”

“Why do you care if I go to jail or not? You’re not involved in this anymore. Lose my number.”

“I’m not going to lose your number. Your number is going to go into my file cabinet.”

“Why are you going to put my number into a file cabinet? I don’t want you to put my number in- you know what, it doesn’t matter. Your opinion doesn’t matter, not to me, not in my decisions, and I don’t have to listen to you anyway.” Peter would have hung up on that note, but he kind of wanted to know what Tony was going to say in response. He hated himself for it.

“Look at it this way, kid. If you kill this guy and get caught, May’s going to be alone and she won’t be able to support herself,” Tony tried, and Peter noted a bit of a frantic tone in his voice. Or was he completely imagining it?

“I already thought about that. I’ve been working extra shifts and stockpiling the money for her, but I’m not going to get caught. I’ve thought it through,” Peter replied, proud of himself for being thorough in his planning.

Tony didn’t sound so proud. “So, what if I kill the guy before you even get the chance?”

“Why would you do that? Don’t you have your own work to do, Mr. Leader of the Underbelly of New York?” Peter’s tone was biting, and he almost felt bad, but he reminded himself that he didn’t care. Tony wasn’t his friend. He didn’t have to be nice to him. It occurred to him that maybe he should try to be nice to him because Tony was a pretty notorious crime lord, but at the same time, the man was adamant on not letting him watch him kill someone, so, maybe he wasn’t in any danger from this man.

“Maybe right now, I’m more concerned about a reckless kid from Queens who’s going to ruin his own life because he thinks himself a hero.”

“I’m not a hero, I’m doing this for Aunt May-” 

Tony cut Peter off harshly. “Does Aunt May give a fuck, Peter? Has she expressed her desire to see this guy die? Or are you doing this for yourself, because you have to… I don’t know, prove to yourself that you can?”

“You’re not doing much to convince me, Anthony, you’re just making me more upset. If I’m not doing this for May, I’m doing it so this asshole doesn’t kill anymore innocent people.”

“There are better ways to handle it, like not putting yourself and your aunt at risk.”

“Stop bringing Aunt May into this! Okay, stop it. Leave me alone. I don’t know why you care, but quit it. This isn’t your job anymore. This was never your job, okay, Tony? So leave me alone. Lose my number or file it away, but leave me  _ alone. _ I have to go.”

Before Tony could speak again, Peter hung up, covering his face. Shit shit shit. Okay. It’s fine. He checked the time and realized he had to get ready for work. That was okay. It would keep him distracted from all this for a good few hours. It was all good. He was fine. 

He showered and dressed, making sure the files were hidden away, tucked under his mattress before he stepped out of his room. May wasn’t in the kitchen, he wasn’t sure if she was in bed or at work already, but it was good because he wasn’t really in the mood to make small talk, not even with May. He ate a little bowl of dry cereal, looking over the memes Ned had sent him during the night before he put his bowl in the sink and grabbed a sweater to pull over his work shirt. He toed his shoes on and grabbed his keys, putting in his headphones as he jogged down the stairs and out the side door of the apartment building, getting a move on to work.

He walked this way so often he could do it in his sleep, so he wasn’t paying much attention as he walked. His music wasn’t so loud in his headphones, but it was enough to distract him from the goings on of the cool morning, getting him out of his head and his thoughts. God, he wished he never had to think again. Especially not when the only thing in his head was Tony Tony Tony. His stupid head.

Being so deep in his music, unable to monitor anything outside his direct line of sight was, in hindsight, stupid. His neighborhood wasn’t exceptionally dangerous, but a toddler knew to always be aware of your surroundings lest you get kidnapped or murdered or something equally as bad. Peter certainly hadn’t been thinking of that risk when he had stepped out of the apartment with his earbuds in, but as he was being yanked off the sidewalk into an alley he’d barely noticed, the golden rules of being safe were blaring in his head with sirens and flashing lights. Yeah, a little late for that.

He tugged his headphones out, eyes wide as he adjusted to the new setting - the dank alley bracketed by tall buildings that did enough to block out the early rising sun so he could hardly focus in the darkness for a few seconds before his eyes calmed down. Then he was being shoved in the wall, and  _ ow _ , he fucking hit his head against the brick.

“Gimme your fucking money, kid,” came a voice, and Peter twisted, managing to get his arm away from the bruising grip. His instincts flared up and he dodged the fist that came up. Oh god, oh god, this was serious.

“I don’t have any money on me,” he spoke up, stepping backwards. He really hoped there was an opening at the other side of the alley, because the perpetrator was standing between him and the sidewalk he’d just been walking down. Not good. Not great.

“You gotta phone. Gimme that,” and now Peter frowned at the figure. Recognition sank into his bones, and his eyes widened. What are the fucking odds? This was the guy.  _ His guy.  _ The guy he wanted to kill. The guy who killed Ben. This was the guy!

“Oh my god,” he breathed out, his thoughts racing too fast to really pick up on any of them. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t have anything on him, but… but the asshole sure did. He raised a gun, and oh god, what was he going to do. “Okay, here, phone, I got my phone-”

He barely got the words out before there was a shot and he cried out. This is where he died, he guessed. Like Uncle Ben? No, he couldn’t think like that. Except that was exactly what was happening.

Except… it wasn’t. Because… it was a couple seconds later, and Peter still couldn’t feel anything. Was this what getting shot was like? He didn’t even feel like falling over. He glanced down, and realized he didn’t feel anything because nothing had touched him. The asshole hadn’t even shot his gun before he was falling onto his knees. The fall revealed Tony Stark, standing in the entrance to the alley, holding his own gun up. Now that the guy was out of the way, the gun was pointing directly at Peter, and it seemed that he and Tony both noticed at the same time, because Tony dropped his arm.

Peter let out a breath. He felt like collapsing. His thoughts were running a mile a minute. He couldn’t comprehend any of them. He had no clue what was happening, except, yeah he did. He was about to die, just like Uncle Ben, and then Tony came and saved him. Saved the day. Why was Tony even here? That, Peter couldn’t answer. But he was glad he was here. Oh god, he was  _ so  _ glad Tony was here. He killed the guy before the guy could kill Peter.

“Jesus  _ christ, _ ” came a breath, and Tony was stepping forward. Peter stared at the older man, but a flash of movement from the ground caught his eye, and oh, oh god, oh no no no the guy wasn’t dead, he wasn’t dead and his gun was pointing up at Tony, and Peter opened his mouth to say something, to warn Tony, to do something, but he was too slow and any sound he made was drowned out by the ringing shot that came from the mugger’s gun.

The shot that burrowed it’s way into Tony’s chest.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Tony did when he woke up was wish he fucking hadn’t.

He was in a godawful amount of pain. He couldn’t pinpoint it to one area yet, his head was swimming, it was so bright wherever he was that he saw red instead of black on the insides of his eyelids. The brightness made him think he might have been in heaven, dead, but that was stupid on account of there was _no_ way he was getting into heaven with what he did. Not only that, but he doubted you were allowed to be in pain when you were in heaven. So scratch that. 

He couldn’t open his eyes, and he would have worried if he wasn’t relieved. If the room was too bright with his eyes closed, then it would certainly be much too bright with his eyes open. So he settled a little and tried to focus on his other senses. Focus was a loose word. The main thing he was focusing on was the pain heating his body. After being awake for more than two seconds, he figured out it was coming from his torso. His chest, to be specific. Jesus, it hurt a lot.

“Are you finally awake or are your vitals just fucking up for the fun of it?”

The sudden voice was enough incentive to peel his eyes open, and after they focused slowly on the form across the room. It took him an embarrassingly long minute to realize who it was. 

“Brucie,” he said, doing his best to make it sound cooing and happy, but he just sounded rough and scratchy and _bad._ His mouth was too dry to sound normal. His throat was dry too. He took a moment to work on getting some fucking saliva in his mouth, licking his lips and swallowing about a million times by the time Bruce was holding out a paper cup. He raised an arm, then winced hard at the pain that bloomed in his muscles. Too much. He dropped the arm and tried the other one, and he was pleased to discover that while this arm ached, it didn’t produce a sharp stinging pain when moved. He took the cup from Bruce and sipped at the water, sighing contently at the feel of it in his mouth and down his throat. He swallowed down all the water and handed the cup back to Bruce.

“How do you feel?” asked the doctor, and god, Tony didn’t want to think about it.

“Like I got run over by three consecutive trains,” he mumbled back honestly, and Bruce didn’t even try to hide the sympathetic smile. No matter what he did, Tony needed Bruce. He was a good doctor and a better friend to agree to be a doctor whenever Tony needed. Which was more often than he liked to admit.

“Getting shot in the chest can do that to you.”

“I got shot in the _chest_?” No, actually, Tony wasn’t surprised. It was coming back to him. “Jesus, I got shot in the chest.” It takes him a long moment to remember all of it, and when he does, it must show on his face, because Bruce’s hand is on the shoulder that doesn’t hurt, holding him down in the bed.

Bruce doesn’t even blink when he’s met with a mouthful of curses, some english, some in a language he doesn’t care to try and translate. He holds firm until Tony tires himself out, which isn’t long, what with the hole in his chest. “Peter is fine. He wasn’t hurt aside from a cut on his head and a few bruises.”

This calms Tony down even more, and that paired with the raging pain is enough to get him to lay fully still again in bed. “Where is he?”

“Safe, Tony, don’t worry. You have more important things to worry about.”

“More important than the kid who went out and put himself into danger _despite_ me telling him not to, thus being the reason I even have a gunshot wound?” Tony snapped, but Bruce wasn’t taken aback or even the slightest bit apologetic. He just smirked at Tony.

“Yes. You aren’t getting up out of that bed until I tell you you can. Doctor’s orders.”

Tony glared at the man. He wanted so desperately to get up and spite his friend, but even propping himself up was enough to have him groaning in pain. “God, Bruce, can you fucking get me some alcohol or something? I’m suffering.”

He was half expecting Bruce to deny him any alcohol, but he turned around and handed him a bottle of whiskey. Apparently not enough of an asshole today to keep him from drinking pain away. Physical pain this time, not emotional. Maybe that was the difference. 

“Can you at least get Peter in here? I want to talk to him.” _I want to ask him what he fucking thought he was doing, putting himself in danger when I explicitly told him not to._

Tony didn’t have to look up to know he was getting a look from Bruce, and he sighed loudly and rested his head back into the pillow. It smelled like doctor. He absently wondered where the fuck he was, and this spurred him on enough to actually take a look at his surroundings.

“Peter isn’t here. He’s at home.” Bruce caught the way Tony tensed and quickly added to his statement. “With Bucky. We’re not stupid, Tony. Jesus.”

Yeah, knowing Bucky was with Peter gave him a little bit of solace. He could live with Peter not being close to him if he at least had someone looking after him. But still. “Why is he not here? He could tell someone… shit, I don’t know, but he should be here, supervised, or…” Tony hesitated finishing his statement and Bruce picked up where he left off.

“Safe. I know, Tones. But Bucky is with him. He’s safe. His aunt would worry, anyway, if he was gone all this time. He was only supposed to be going to work this morning. According to him. And the schedule you have scribbled in the sticky notes you have all over your desk.”

Tony doesn’t react to the amused tone of Bruce’s voice. He frowned halfway through the info dump. “What do you mean, all this time? How long have I been out?” Bruce hesitates and Tony pushes more.

“Two days.”

Well. That was better and worse than what Tony had expected. But still. “Shit.”

“Peter was brought here with you and I treated him, and Natasha took care of him overnight, questioned him, the like. He went home early yesterday morning with Bucky.”

“Well, get him here. I want to talk to him.”

“Tony, I will not. You’re going to heal from this first, because I know if you stress yourself out it’s going to make the wound worse. You have a job to do outside Peter and we all know you haven’t been doing it, so you’re healing as quick as possible so you can go back to doing your real job.”

Tony’s lip twitched at the lecture, but instead of frowning, it was a smile. “Yes, mommy,” he said sweetly, reveling in the look he got from his friend. “Thank you, Bruce. Seriously. You’re a godsend.”

Bruce smiled back, no matter how much he looked like he didn’t want to. “You’re welcome. I’m doing my best to fix you as soon as possible.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less."

Peter was not enjoying himself. At all. For multiple reasons.

The whole debacle had not been one Peter enjoyed. Not that he really enjoyed any debacle, but this one was especially bad. He watched Tony Stark get shot. Because of Peter’s own stupidity. That wasn’t something he enjoyed. The mugger was shot and killed, Peter wasn’t really sure if it was by Tony or someone else, but then he was being shepherded into a (very fancy) car beside the very wounded crime lord and brought to a very fancy mansion. He was surprised he hadn’t been blindfolded or something on the way there, but he was distracted enough as it was that it wouldn’t have changed anything.

He supposed being looked over by the doctor wasn’t the worst experience. It was certainly much more calming than the normal doctors office, as weird as that may sound. The doctor, Dr. Banner, was calm and friendly, and he chatted with Peter normally while he looked over him and patched up the cut on his head. He was certainly not what Peter expected a mafia doctor to be like, but the man was pleasant and put Peter way at ease despite being basically bodyguarded all throughout the little checkup.

He really, really had not enjoyed being questioned for about three straight hours afterwards, though. The woman who had questioned him hadn’t laid a finger on him, or even was an ounce of threatening toward him, but her whole demeanor was threatening in itself and Peter really did not like how small he felt in the chair while she stood across from him staring at him. And then he’d been fed some food that he barely tasted and was then locked in a bedroom, which he had, as per the status quo, _not fucking enjoyed._

He had no clue what was going on with Tony, since no one would tell him anything. He didn’t know if he was alive, or awake, or mad at Peter. He was completely in the dark. He laid on the bed in the dark, trying to listen for anything, any sounds that might clue him into what the fuck was happening, but there was absolutely nothing. Aside from the occasional shuffle outside his door, which let him in on the fact that the door was guarded, there was nothing.

He’d tried the window, of course, but it was jammed shut. He’d tugged and yanked on it anyway, hoping he could get it open, but it wouldn’t, and he gave up trying pretty fast. None of his requests were listened to by whoever was outside, not even to go to the bathroom, so he just curled up on top of the blankets and willed himself to go to sleep.

When he woke up, he was in a car. The same car as the day before? No. The seats were a different color. And there was also no blood covering those seats. It had to be a different car. He was alone in the backseat, and a glance up told him there was only one person in the front. The driver, the guy with the prosthetic arm. He assumed it was a prosthetic. It had to be a prosthetic. Why else would his arm look like it was made out of metal?

“Is your arm a prosthetic?” He spoke up before his brain decided it would, and it half surprised him. The man looked at him in the rearview mirror, and Peter really couldn’t decipher the look on his face. He wasn’t sure he was going to answer, either, because the time that was passing was nearing the end of the amount of time that should pass between question and answer. But he wasn’t disappointed.

“Yes, it is.” The voice wasn’t cold as Peter had expected it to be. It was a real nice voice, all things considered. Peter nodded in response, deciding to keep a hold on his mouth because it really wasn’t polite to ask a complete stranger how he lost his arm, and it was an especially bad idea if that stranger was a part of the fucking mob.

It was quiet for a long time before Peter spoke up again, this time of his own volition. “Where are we going?” He’d been watching out the window, but he hadn’t recognized any of the buildings or structures that were passing by. He wondered if he was being taken out to the countryside to be shot.

“Your house,” came the reply, and that really surprised Peter.

“You’re taking me home?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Why?”

Steely eyes met his own in the rearview mirror again, and Peter was doubly surprised to see a hint of smile in them. “Would you rather go somewhere else?”

Peter gaped at him in the mirror, but he managed to get a shake of his head in there. “No. No, that’s… no, it’s fine. I’m fine. Home is good.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. Peter had no clue what was going on, and frankly, he was scared to ask. He continued to be scared to ask when the car pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, and instead of just unlocking the door, the driver turned the car off, got out and opened the door for him, and then grabbed his bag for him and followed Peter up into the building all the way to his door. There he mustered up the courage to actually ask what the fuck was going on. But not worded like that at all, of course.

“Uh, thanks. For the ride, and… stuff. I can take my stuff.” Peter reached for it, but the man didn’t offer it out, so his hands hovered in the air before he dropped them awkwardly. Okay, so he was keeping Peter’s bag hostage. That was fine. He wasn’t sure what the next move was, but luckily the man clued him in.

“Are you going to open the door?”

Peter’s face flushed and he nodded, twisting around and searching all his pockets to pull his key out. It was a measly thing only attached to a ring and a little enamel pin that was shaped like a spider. He thought it was cute. Anyway. He unlocked the door and stepped in, taking a breath and relaxing a little as the familiarity of his apartment hit him like a brick wall. He stepped in and set his key down on the table just inside the door, and when he turned to get his bag from the man, he found he was standing in his apartment, the door closed.

“Uh. Come in, I guess.” The words were meant sarcastically, but Peter couldn’t bring his tone to be biting, so it fell flat on its face between them. The man smirked and handed the bag over, finally. Peter took it, with an air of suspicion, but the man didn’t move any more than that, and Peter’s curiosity boiled over. “Fine, I’ll bite. Whatcha doing in my apartment?”

“Bodyguarding you.” He didn’t offer any more information, and Peter had to huff loudly and ask why the heck he had a bodyguard. This brought out that hint of a smile again. “Tony would insist you not be left alone, but we figured you’d be more comfortable here than in the base. So, we’re here.”

Peter took a moment to process this and frowned a little. “Why can’t I be alone? Am I in danger? I thought the guy was dead.” He didn’t want to think about that fact right now. He felt like he’d gone through a lot in the past 24 hours and he did _not_ want to confront the fact that he watched a guy be murdered.

Peter’s apparent bodyguard sighed a little. “It’s less about you being in danger and more about you being a danger. To Tony and his operation.”

Peter got the feeling this was more information than he was supposed to be told, but he appreciated the fact that he got to know it anyway. “Wait, so… Tony is worried that… he’s worried that I’ll tell someone? About… well, what the fuck would I tell? As far as I know, he saved my life. Why would I get him in trouble for that?”

“It’s a safety precaution, Peter. Tony’s cautious. As he should be. It’s how he’s still alive.”

That wasn’t a can of worms Peter particularly wanted to open right then, so he backtracked. “You know my name. Can I know yours?” The man hesitated and Peter pouted. “Come on. You know my name. You know my address, which is concerning. I’m sure you can at least tell me your name. And besides, if you’re going to be my bodyguard, for who knows how long, then I want something to call you. Because right now my options are limited and kind of rude.”

This got more than a hint of a smile from him. A real smile, maybe. “Bucky. Call me Bucky, kid.”

“I’m twenty,” Peter said instinctively. “I’m not a kid, you don’t have to call me a kid.” 

He worried, a moment after the words left his mouth, that Bucky would take offense to it, but thankfully, he didn’t. He just nodded and smiled his little almost smile. “Sorry, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate this chapter i aspire to write the next chapter BETTER


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i realized halfway through writing this chapter that I contradicted myself. I said in the first chapter that Peter lived with May. I changed that, I think, so now they live in separate apartments from now on.

Peter had had enough of Bucky after the first week. It was nice to have company for the first few days. There were a few times where he forgot Bucky was even there, and he caught himself belting in the shower or something equally embarrassing. 

He and Bucky got along fine, he thought. They weren’t, like, best friends or anything, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Except that after a week, it kind of was unpleasant. Bucky never wanted to talk, and Peter didn’t consider himself a very social person, but when someone was in his home, as a guest, as Bucky sort of was, he always felt like he had to make conversation or offer them a drink or something. Host instincts or something. Was that a thing? Regardless.

Bucky never wanted to talk about anything past “how was your day” “what should we have for dinner” and other boring casual ‘hey we’re strangers but we’re stuck in a tiny place together so we have to speak to each other’ conversation. It was awful. Not only that, but he never left. He was always around Peter somehow. Which wasn’t that big of a deal, he  _ was  _ supposed to be Peter’s bodyguard, but it was weird when he would casually glance out the window of the coffee shop and see Bucky sitting there on a bench outside the shop that he was certain wasn’t there before all this happened. He never came into the shop, which Peter was a little relieved about, but they walked there and back together and Bucky never left.

Peter had to wonder if the man ever ate. Or went to the bathroom.

He felt out of sorts in his own home after the first week. He felt like he couldn’t settle. Bucky was always watching him, and he was always there. Peter couldn’t even go to the corner store across the building without Bucky tailing him and standing in the doorway while Peter got his candy or whatever shit he tried to get away to get. But he couldn’t even say anything to Bucky because it wasn’t like it was his decision to be in charge of Peter. Maybe Bucky hated it just as much as Peter did. He couldn’t bring himself to complain.

Another week passed, another week of the same. Peter couldn’t talk Bucky out of following him to May’s apartment on their weekly Sunday lunch, but he had at least convinced him to stay in the hallway or something so that May wouldn’t ask why there was an absolute beast of a man standing in her dining room while they ate. It was harder to convince Bucky to keep out of his movie night with Ned, but finally he got him to stay in Peter’s room while he and Ned watched their movies in the living room. He thanked Bucky very profusely for that.

A day into the third week was finally the end of it. Peter stepped out of the coffee shop, tucking his hands into his pockets as he offered Bucky a hello smile.

“Bit of a detour home, Pete.” Bucky told him, hand on his shoulder leading him not down the sidewalk as usual, but toward a very expensive looking black car,  _ Tony’s car,  _ his brain supplied. A car that was at least tied to Tony in some way. He didn’t know for sure that it was Tony’s car personally. Whatever. He climbed in and to his surprise, Bucky slid into the backseat with him. There was someone in the driver’s seat that Peter didn’t recognize, so he turned to Bucky instead for answers to unspoken questions.

“Tony’s finally healed enough for Dr. Banner to let him see you,” Bucky explained once the car had started moving.

Peter raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. It was strange to hear that Tony needed permission to do anything, comical, almost, but he supposed it made sense since Banner was a doctor. A professional, probably. Very good at it, at least. “So, um, we’re going to see Tony?”

Bucky nodded, but didn’t offer any more information. Peter was brimming with more questions that he didn’t quite know how to ask. What were they going to talk about? How injured was Tony? Would Peter still need Bucky after this meeting? And more embarrassingly, the kinds of questions Peter didn’t even want to think about, Was Tony as desperate to see Peter as Peter was to see Tony?

  
  


The last time he was here, he was a bit too sidetracked, what with having just been in a gunfight, to really appreciate how absolutely beautiful the house was. Was it a house? No, it was a mansion. And it was so beautiful.

The whole thing was very modern, as Peter expected from a man like Tony Stark, lots of windows and minimalist colors and a surprising amount of plants and a moat in the front yard? Jesus. How rich was Tony? Jeez. He knew he was rich, sure, but a  _ moat? _ Along with the moat, there was also a very tall stone wall surrounding the entire thing with a gate that was topped with very sharp looking prongs. It was very looming. Peter supposed that was the idea.

The inside was just as gorgeous as well. Peter was overwhelmed as he was led through the doors and through to a very nice room that Peter recognized as Tony’s office. The last time he was in here he’d yelled at Tony. The same Tony that was sitting in the chair behind the big heavy desk in the middle of the room. Oh god. 

He looked fucking better than the last time Peter saw him. Of course, the last time Peter saw him he had a bullet in his chest and he was pretty much unconscious. Anything would be better than seeing that. But he looked really good here. Like, really good. Like, really really good. Like really really  _ really- _

“Mister Parker, it’s nice to see you.”

Peter was jolted out of his embarrassing thoughts by Tony himself. He met eyes with the man and flushed a little, but he forced a smile. “Yeah, uh, you too.” He twisted the sleeve of his sweater between his hands, waiting for Tony to say something, but nothing came, and god, Peter felt awkward as shit, so he tried to rack his brain for something to say. Anything. Anything to say.

“So. That was some… gun..fight, right?”

Oh god. That was really the best thing he could come up with?

Peter felt his cheeks go bright red immediately and he loathed to think what he looked like. A tomato? A cherry? The fucking kool-aid man? He didn’t want to think about it. Thankfully, that seemed about the extent of Tony’s small talk meter, to no one’s surprise. The man cleared his throat, looking as unbothered as ever except for the tension in his fingers, gripping the arms of his chair so tight his knuckles were white. Peter almost didn’t notice.

“I told you to leave it alone, and you  _ didn’t  _ leave it alone. No, you went out and poked the bear.” Tony’s hands left the arms of his chair and folded together instead under his chin, and Peter wished he could see Tony’s eyes, but they were hidden behind dark tinted sunglasses. “Do you get off on not listening to authority, Mr Parker?”

Peter flushed even deeper, if possible, and god, if he didn’t want to melt into the rug under his feet. Which, he had to note, was a very nice rug. It was a funny texture and it was soft enough to make Peter want to slide off the chair and lay across the rug and press his cheek against it. But anyway. Back to the matter at hand. “I didn’t poke anything, actually,” he said, not sure what he was expecting in response. No matter, he didn’t receive a response at all. Tony didn’t even twitch. It might have gotten on Peter’s nerves, but he decided that Tony wasn’t a bear he wanted to poke, either.

Maybe in a different sense. But he didn’t want to think about that now either.

“I didn’t go out looking for a fight. I went to work, and happened to stumble upon him. Or… well, he stumbled upon me, I guess. Or… well, the point of the matter is, Mr Stark, I didn’t poke any bear. I didn’t want to fight him. Well, I did, but not enough to actively seek him out. Which I  _ didn’t. _ ” It was a half lie. He sure did want to fight him, it just hadn’t been on his itinerary for that particular day. But Tony really didn’t need to know that. He wasn’t poking the bear. 

“I’m supposed to believe that? You storm out of here in a huff because I won’t let you watch me kill a man, and then I find you in an alley with that same man, about to get shot? It’s suspicious, Peter, and I’m  _ so sorry  _ if my first instinct is to wholeheartedly believe you.” Tony’s voice never rose in volume, but somehow, the growing intensity in his quiet tone was just as off-putting as a shout.

But Peter focused instead on the irate feeling Tony’s words brought up in him instead of the unsettling tone that he supposed must come with being a mob boss. “You don’t have to believe me, because it’s true, and I know it’s true, and I don’t see where you fit into that equation.”

“I saved your life,” Tony argued.

“Who said he was going to kill me?”

“He had a gun pointed straight at you, kid. What do you think was going to come out of it, confetti and balloons?”

“Obviously not, I know what guns do.” And then  _ oh my god, how could I forget _ ? “Oh, how’s your chest? I’m sorry, Tony, I should have asked.” Most of the steam flew out of him just then, and he deflated, frowning at Tony. He looked as apologetic as he felt, and Tony seemed to relax a slight bit too. Or maybe that was his imagination.

“I feel fine, Peter. You don’t need to ask,” he said, and his voice was soft still, but it was gentle rather than upset. Peter felt himself settle further. Felt his anger at the situation dissipate. 

“I’m sorry you got hurt because of me, Mr Stark,” he said quietly, but Tony didn’t accept it, waving his hand dismissively.

“You’re not the one who shot me, Peter. It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, but I’m the reason you were in that situation,” Peter pushed, not wanting the blame to be on Tony or anyone else. It wasn’t anyone else’s fault.

“Kid, I’m the one who put myself in that situation. I decided you were worth protecting, so I protected you. You didn’t ask for the protection,” Tony said, irritation growing in his voice, but Peter couldn’t help himself much.

“I’m sorry I made you think I was worth the protection.”

To his surprise, Tony laughed at this instead of getting angry like he assumed. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse. He tensed up, watching Tony watch him once he was finished chuckling. “You’re fucking stubborn, you know that?”

And really, now Tony was just asking for it. “I’m sorry,” Peter said weakly, hands fidgeting nervously now. He felt so out of his depths. 

Tony eyed him for a long minute before finally, finally replying. “Well, then, you’re forgiven. For everything you think you’re sorry for.”

That was not what Peter was expecting. He felt like Tony blew all his expectations, and yet he kept having expectations. Maybe that was on him. “What?”

“I forgive you. For putting me in danger, allegedly, and for being worth protecting, I definitely forgive you for that.”

From the look on his face, Tony was really enjoying causing Peter to squirm and flounder in confusion. Sadistic fuck. Though maybe that came with the job description of being a crime lord. He must be sadistic, at least to some degree. Right? He supposed he must have been quietly pondering for too long, because Tony spoke up again, grinning even wider.

“Come on, Pete. What do we say when someone forgives us?” It was practically a coo, and Peter couldn’t stop the heat from creeping up his cheeks and down his neck and shoulders. It felt like much too intimate to be passed through Tony to Peter. Like anything else that made him unsure, Peter squared his shoulders up and battled it with his own defensive tone. Sarcasm.

“Oh,  _ thank _ you, Anthony, I’m  _ forever  _ indebted to you, how can I  _ ever  _ repay you for being so, so,  _ so _ thoughtful and forgiving and kind?” He chirped back, sugary sweet. He clasped his hands over his heart, swooning and smiling at Tony, but if it threw him off, it was only for a moment before he was back to smirking at Peter. 

“I have a few ideas, sweetheart.” 

Peter wouldn’t let the suggestiveness of the sentence phase him. He was strong. He didn’t care to be swept up in Tony’s big strong arms and carried off. That wasn’t his style. No sir. Not at all, no thank you. He couldn’t help his body reacting, though, and it sure did, getting red again. Peter wanted to just drain himself of all his blood so he wouldn’t have to deal with it exposing him like this anymore. It was part of his own body, couldn’t it get with the program and let his brain decide if he was going to be blushing? If that was the case, he would never blush again. He would be calm, cool and collected, and he wouldn’t turn into a pomegranate every time someone complimented him or called him something sweet. He couldn’t carry on being sarcastic when he was so flustered even his thoughts were stuttering.

“Oh, okay. Okay, Mr Stark. That’s good, I mean, that’s good that you have, um, you know, ideas.” What the hell was this, now? Certainly not sarcasm, certainly something that made him sound like a child. Why the hell was Tony getting under his skin like this? He didn’t feel like himself, he felt jumpy and unsure and flustered. It was something about Tony that just set this off, made him uncertain. He couldn’t pinpoint it. He wanted to pinpoint it so that Tony wouldn’t be able to use it on him anymore and make him so skittish. It was an unfair advantage.

“Well, if that’s all, Peter,” Tony started, trailing off very obviously. There was a weird tug in Peter’s stomach. Was Tony done with him now? They hadn’t even really talked, had they? It felt like he’d just stood here making a fool of himself for twenty minutes, or however long all of that blabbering had taken him, and now they were just done? That was it? Was he out of Tony’s life now? He didn’t  _ want  _ to be out of Tony’s life now, and that realization took him by surprise, took up most of his thinking space, so he could just nod and then he was being escorted out of the office by a cool hand that he knew was attached to Bucky’s metal arm. He just let himself be escorted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my favorite part of this chapter is MJ

He wasn’t out of Tony’s life. He couldn’t be, not with Bucky still living in his apartment with him. There was a looser hold on him, and Bucky no longer felt the need to walk two feet behind Peter at all times, but he was still there. Constantly.

Peter didn’t know whether he was relieved or not. Sure, he hadn’t wanted to be out of Tony’s life forever, because he was a glutton for punishment, but he also hadn’t wanted to continue living with a built in babysitter. Which was essentially what Bucky was, at much as the man loathed it. Peter made the mistake of saying it once, and Bucky had squeezed the glass of water he was holding so tight it had shattered. Having to pick glass shards out of his rug for an hour taught Peter two lessons. Not to call Bucky a babysitter, and to invest in a goddamn vacuum cleaner.

But still. Why was Bucky still here? He was too nervous to ask the man himself, because as much as Peter tried to convince himself they were on good terms, it was impossible to tell, and Peter hated feeling like he was inconveniencing him. But the weight of having him in his apartment all the time was wearing on him.

“Just woman up and talk to the guy,” MJ said, her voice flat and unimpressed as always. Her and Ned were at their usual pizza place. Peter wasn’t sure where Bucky was in the restaurant, but he knew he was somewhere. That’s why he gave MJ a sharp look. He knew she didn’t know anything about the situation, just that there was a guy he didn’t know how to act around and he shouldn’t be with but he really wanted to be with. But still. It wasn’t a public type of conversation.

“We shouldn’t talk about it here,” he said in a soft breath, and Ned agreed with him, though he knew it wasn’t for his sake.

“We should instead talk about ways I can pick up the waitress,” Ned said, and Peter rolled his eyes, though he was glad, because it was better than talking about Tony when Bucky could be anywhere and was almost certainly listening. Another reason Peter wanted to lose him.

Maybe MJ was right, though. He had nothing to lose, right? It wasn’t like they would kill him, right? Except maybe they would. Maybe Bucky was still with him so he didn’t go to the police, and if he complained then they’d just kill him. But Tony had said he was worth protecting. Why would they kill him if he was so worth protecting? And Tony had taken a bullet for him, so he should be more thankful for all this. He was thankful, but ‘thankful’ wasn’t complaining about things he was given. Even if the things he was given was a babysitter.

“Peter!”

He was snapped back to reality with MJ clapping her hands right in front of his face. He jumped, eyes focusing back on her. “What, jeez?”

“Don’t jeez me, Peter Parker. Is this really weighing on you this much that you can’t relax for one night?” MJ was scowling, but there was little real heat behind her eyes. Concern, maybe. 

He shook his head. “I’m fine, you guys. Just… well, I mean, it is… ugh. Never mind.” He was so bad at voicing his thoughts and he was aware of it. He changed the subject. “Where’s the pizza? It’s been a while since we ordered, hasn’t it? Usually it’s quicker than this.”

The diversion at least worked for Ned, who twisted in the booth to look at where the kitchen was. “You’re right. I’m starving!” He said it loud, like maybe the cooks would hear. Wishful thinking seeing as they were pretty much on the opposite side of the restaurant, but to Peter’s surprise, the doors swung open. Except it wasn’t the waitress that came out with their pizza, it was-

“Tony?”

Peter was at a loss, staring at the man who had just waltzed out of the swinging door. It was indeed Tony, looking nice as ever in an ash colored suit that made Peter’s mouth water. What the fuck. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” Tony had noticed Peter sitting in the red plastic booth with his friends and Peter couldn’t define the look on his face as the man took in the information.

“Who is that?” Ned asked, swinging between Tony and Peter, looking as lost as Peter felt. What was Tony doing in this greasy, tiny little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria? Did it have something to do with Peter? “Peter, who is that? Why is he walking over here? He looks rich, and kinda hot-”

Peter slapped his hand over Ned’s mouth as Tony came to the table, looking somewhat confused. He wasn’t sure how much Tony heard of what came out of Ned’s mouth, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Anthony, great to see you,” Peter said weakly, trying to hold onto the last bit of dignity he had, until Ned licked his palm. He immediately dropped his hand, face twisting in disgust as he wiped his spit covered hand against Ned’s shoulder, ewwwing at his friend. Then he remembered Tony Stark was standing beside the table, and he turned red and instead grabbed a napkin to wipe his hand off the rest of the way, meeting the mob boss’s eyes against his better judgement.

“What are you doing here, Peter?” There goes Peter’s hope that Tony’s being here had something to do with him. He didn’t sound too pleased to see him, either. His heart sank, but he tried not to let it show.

“Having dinner? Well, waiting to have dinner,” he replied slowly. “That’s generally why people come to restaurants.” He caught Tony’s lip twitching into a smile and he counted it as a victory. That was good. He wasn’t mad. But something was still bothering him. Tony turned to scour the restaurant and his eyes fell onto Bucky, who was already up and walking toward them. Oh, great. That’s good. Just what he needed. “M-Maybe you guys-” fuck, he didn’t want MJ and Ned to know about any of this. What was he going to say? “Um. Tony? Outside?”

Tony looked back at Peter as Bucky reached the table, and Peter prayed with his entire being that the man understood his hesitation about the situation. It was kind of in his best interests anyway. Being suspicious was better than having whatever conversation they were going to have in front of MJ and Ned, right? Thankfully, MJ picked up on Peter’s desperation to not have them around for whatever this was, and even though he knew she was probably dying to know what the fuck was going on, she cleared her throat before anyone else said a thing.

“You know what? I don’t even want pizza anymore. Ned, come with me to get some sandwiches, and then we’ll meet Peter at his apartment.” Her voice left no room for argument from anyone, and Peter could kiss her. Platonically as a friend. Ned just nodded, knowing better to say anything about staying, giving Tony and Bucky both a weird look and Peter an even weirder look, and then they were grabbing their jackets and MJ told Peter to text when he was done and then Peter was alone in the booth looking up at Tony and Bucky.

He didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t expect to see Tony anytime soon, let alone talk to him. Sure, he was  _ going  _ to say something eventually, but he’d really only decided that like ten minutes ago and he hadn’t even thought about what he wanted to say. And now Tony was so close Peter could see that his suit wasn’t actually one solid color, it had lighter grey pinstripes running up and down, giving the suit a nice texture, he thought. He also smelled good, which was a much less appropriate observation. He reddened and cleared his throat.

“So.”

To Peter’s dismay, when Tony spoke, it wasn’t even to him. “What the hell are you doing, letting him in here? You know it’s run by the Pirellos. You  _ know- _ ”

“And they don’t know. No one knows he has anything to do with you. Besides, they always come here, every week, and nothing ever happens.” Bucky interrupted Tony, a move which Peter thought was quite ballsy seeing as their position. Tony seemed to think it was ballsy too. He couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses, but he did see the way Tony’s jaw clenched.

“Something still could have happened. The Pirellos are dangerous, Barnes.”

“Not to innocent people. They’re in the drug business.”

“They’re dangerous to me and anything associated to me, which Peter is.”

“They don’t  _ know _ that. Like I said. Not dangerous to innocent people, and that kid is the textbook definition.”

“That kid is sitting right here, you guys,” Peter spoke up, his mouth dry. He didn’t like the sound of any of that. They came to Frank’s Pizza because it was good, he had no clue drugs were behind it. But that was probably the point. He didn’t even know who the Pirello’s were. “Look, um, my friends aren’t idiots? They’re probably gonna recognize you at some point? And since, I mean…” he trailed off, motioning to himself and Tony, unsure of what to say to fill the void, but he just pressed on. “I mean. they’re going to have questions. MJ especially… will have things to say. About. This.”

Tony hand came up to rub his face, a gesture that betrayed his frustration. “I trusted you to keep him out of harm’s way, Buck,” he said finally, and Peter was put out that he was offered nothing in response.

“And I did. He hasn’t been harmed. He was never in imminent danger, and if he was, I would have stepped in. People eat here and nothing happens. It’s a restaurant.”

It didn’t do anything to calm Tony’s nerves. “Jesus. I should have trusted someone else, because you have very obviously let yourself slack off on this-”

“Tony,” Bucky said through gritted teeth, and Peter could see his fists clench at his sides. He shifted back in the booth, his back pressing against the wall that stopped him from going any further. “There’s no threat toward Peter. He’s in no danger, and I see no reason I have to breathe down his neck while he’s having a normal dinner with his friends.”

Peter was a little surprised at how firmly Bucky was defending his post. Peter had had a hard enough time arguing his case about being 20 years old and not needing Bucky to watch him while he did the same thing he did every other day, but he supposed Bucky had argued so firmly about it because he knew Tony wouldn’t understand it the way it was. He kind of felt bad. But then Tony was turning to Peter, and all that left his brain as he looked up.

“Cat’s out of the bag now, kid, at least to the Pirellos.” He jerked his thumb back toward the kitchen doors, where one of the cooks was indeed standing, watching them. Peter had no clue how Tony knew he was there. “That means you’re not coming here anymore. As for your friends…”

“They don’t know everything. They don’t actually know anything, actually. Um. They’re just going to wonder how I know you.” Peter was quick to jump to their defense. He didn’t want to be told he couldn’t see them anymore, though he had no clue if that’s what Tony was going to decide.

“This is complicated, kid. I have to know I can trust your friends not to say anything.” Tony’s voice was low and serious, and Peter’s heart leapt into his throat, and NOT because it was kind of hot.

“Are you going to hurt them? Don’t. I’m- I- please, Tony, Anthony, Mr Stark, don’t hurt my friends, they won’t do anything.” It was a step above getting on his knees and begging, but he didn’t care. They were his best friends.

“I won’t hurt your friends. I told you I don’t kill people for no reason. I don’t hurt people for no reason either.” Bucky made a noise and Tony turned to look at him. Peter didn’t have to see his eyes to know he was glaring. “I’ll just… have to talk to them.”

“You promise you won’t hurt them?”

“Swear on my life, Pete.” Tony really did smile this time and Peter couldn’t help but smile back. He did believe him. “Another day.”

“Wait, there’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Peter said quickly, sitting up and placing his palms flat on the table. Tony glanced back at the cook, raising an eyebrow before he turned back to Peter. “We’ll speak outside.”

Moments later they were outside, walking side by side with Bucky walking a few paces behind them. Peter glanced at the man over his shoulder, chewing his lip before he looked up at Tony. “It’s about Bucky.”

A smile grew on Tony’s face. “What about him?” He asked innocently, and Peter knew he knew what he was going to say. 

“Well… Do I really need a bab- I mean, a bodyguard? I mean, I’m 20 years old.”

“Oh, I  _ know.”  _ The smile on Tony’s face was looking fairly cheshire-ish, and Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes. “But it has nothing to do with your age,  _ caro _ , and more to do with the fact that I- you may be in danger by knowing me. Bucky will keep you from getting hurt.”

Peter didn’t want to say anything about whatever Tony had called him. Instead, he frowned at Tony. “I’m not in danger. Nothing has happened that would put me in danger, I mean, I helped you and you… helped me, I guess. You saved my life. We have nothing to do with each other anymore.” It hurt saying it, and from the look that briefly crossed Tony’s face, it hurt to hear.

“Right. You’re right, of course. Smart boy.” Tony’s hands went to his pockets, and they kept walking in silence. “It just worries me to leave you alone.”

“I’ve been alone for a lot longer than I’ve known you, Anthony. You don’t have to be worried about me.”

He pretended not to notice the sad look Tony gave him, which he caught out of the corner of his eye. It gave him a weird feeling that he wasn’t going to confront. He wasn’t confronting a lot of things lately. “I know.”

“So? So, I don’t need to be protected,” Peter continued, looking up at Tony. “I don’t need Bucky to live with me anymore.” Tony seemed to struggle with this, and Peter sighed a little. “Please, Tony. If something happens, I can… I’ll call you. And I’ll never tell the police or anything. You saved my life. I won’t get you in trouble. And Ned and MJ won’t either, I promise. There’ll be no trouble from me. From us.”

He’d stopped midway through, turning to Tony and taking his hands in his, looking up at him. Tony’s hands were big and warm, and his fingertips were calloused where they pressed against Peter’s own softer skin. Peter liked Tony’s hands. They were nice hands, and he liked looking at them, and he especially liked holding them. Even if he knew those hands have done dangerous, violent and most likely illegal things. He didn’t want to let them go, but it was nearing inappropriate territory for how long they’ve been holding hands since he’s stopped talking. Still. After a second, he let them go and shoved his hands into his sweater pocket. He could feel his face heat up, so he turned away from Tony so he wouldn’t see.

“Great. So… Okay, Peter.” Tony’s voice was soft. “You’re free. You won’t have a bodyguard anymore. But if you need anything. Anything at all. Like, Peter, I mean  _ anything _ .” He was earnest and serious, and Peter nodded. He wasn’t sure what he would ever need, but god if his mind wasn’t racing with things he could use as an excuse to see Tony again after this.

“Yeah, of course, Mr Stark. I’ll let you know.”

They shared a smile, and then Tony was looking up at the apartment building they’d stopped in front of. 

“This is your apartment, then. Your friends are waiting… right?” Peter nodded and Tony nodded back, hands in his pockets. “Then… I’ll… see you.”

Peter could almost convince himself Tony sounded sad to part. “Yeah. I’ll see you.” Another long pause. They stared at each other, both lost in their thoughts. Finally, Bucky cleared his throat, breaking the spell, and Peter’s face went warm again. “Okay. I’ll- yeah, I gotta go. Thanks Tony.” Another moment. Before it could get uncomfortable, though, Peter was pulling his keys out, jamming them into the lock, giving Tony another last smile before he disappeared inside.


	7. Chapter 7

###  Chapter 7

Tony found himself having an awful time adjusting to life without Peter. It had been two months since their encounter at the pizza place. He had gotten so used to getting reports from Bucky about the kid, but now there was none of that and Tony had to get on with life as usual. It was harder than expected. Peter Parker took up more than half his brain space at any given time, and it was distracting in the worst ways. No one said anything, but he knew he was acting weird in relation to how he usually was, and he just had to grit his teeth and muscle through it.

He did everything in his power to forget Peter even existed. He didn’t think about him at all, he didn’t go to the little coffee shop in Queens where he knew Peter would be, since he’d memorized his schedule with little difficulty so long ago. He throws himself into work, following up on old problems, working doubly hard to solve new problems. He never lets his mind wander, because if it did, it would wander toward Peter, and that’s the opposite of what Tony was going for.

He ended up hiring a new man. Someone Bucky trusted, which was a pretty good incentive. Tony wasn’t sure how he felt about Steve Rogers, the man had a sort of holier-than-thou attitude, which Tony was decidedly not a fan of. He was strong, though, and he listened to Tony and did what he was told, even if sometimes he had to be nudged along by Bucky. They had a weird relationship, one Tony couldn’t quite pin down, but he tried to ignore it. He wasn’t interested in finding out that they were fucking or something, even if he was pretty sure that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, so he kept his nose out of it. 

It had been a long day on the field with Natasha and Clint. They were stealthy, which contrasted how Tony usually liked to handle himself (which was to say loudly and with a dramatic flair, sue him) but he didn’t mind it. It was a long day, though, and he would be glad to get back to the mansion. Get back, eat something greasy, drink a lot and get to sleep at an atrocious hour. He didn’t have anything planned for the next day, so he was on no type of schedule. 

When they pulled up to the house, however, Steve was waiting at the door, scowling and looking the most unhappy Tony ever remembered seeing him. Before Tony could even say anything to him, Steve was leaning in. “Caught a kid loitering around the gate. He won’t say what he’s here for, but he claims to hell and back that he knows you.”

Tony frowned, taking mental attendance of everyone he knew who could be described as ‘kid’ and who knew where he lived. There were some he wasn’t sure about, some he refused to think about. Peter fit the bill, but Tony shut that shit up quick. Peter wouldn’t come here unannounced. Tony wasn’t sure Peter would come here period. He motioned to be let in and Steve shifted, following a step behind.

“I put him in the basement for you to deal with,” he was told, and Tony had to suppress a groan. He didn’t want to deal with anything at all, but he also didn’t like leaving hostages in his basement longer than he had to. And he was curious.

“He didn’t give you a name?”

“Didn’t want to talk to anyone but you, that’s all he said.”

Tony pressed his lips together and sighed, nodding. “Get me whiskey and come downstairs, then.”

Steve disappeared and Tony continued on to the basement door. It was thick and soundproof, and Tony took a leisurely moment to slip his coat off and lay it neatly on the hook outside the door. He rubbed a hand through his hair and twisted the handle, not bothering to wait for Steve to catch up. He stepped on the stairs, taking his time stepping down. He didn’t look at the person tied to the chair right away, allowing himself some suspense until both feet were on the concrete floor and the lights were turned up from the dim glow they’d been left at.

“Mr Stark!”

Oh, no, it  _ wasn’t. _

Tony took a deep breath and turned, already trying to rationalize this to himself.

“Peter. What the fuck are you doing tied to a chair in my fucking basement?” He couldn’t keep the exhaustion out of his voice. He hoped Steve would hurry the fuck up with his whiskey.

There sat Peter Parker, looking the same as he did the last time Tony saw him. Did he, though? Upon closer inspection, there was a sort of veil over Peter’s soft white skin, one that made him look… well, tired. He looked hopeful, but he seemed to be steeling himself for something. The worst, whatever that was. Tony didn’t think he wanted to know, exactly, because whatever it was, it was going to let Peter down, and he didn’t want to do that.

“You know, we’ve kinda been meeting under the weirdest circumstances,” Peter said, his voice casual as if his arms weren’t twisted behind him with a thick rope Tony knew was not a comfortable one to have bound around your wrists.

“This circumstance seems to have been your doing, if I’m understanding correctly,” Tony shot back, and the blushy grin he got from Peter in response was enough to make up for the lack of whiskey currently at hand. 

“Yeah, about that. I actually wasn’t  _ trying  _ to be suspicious, although I do see how I could have looked suspicious, so I don’t need a lecture about skulking around outside people’s front gates.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Is that seriously what you were doing?” The look on Peter’s face was answer enough. “Jesus, kid, why didn’t you just text me or something?”

“I, um, I deleted your number?” Peter’s voice was small all of a sudden, small and quiet and shy, and Tony watched his face go from pink to dark red. He was a little worried for the kid’s health. But that really piqued Tony’s interest.

“Why did you do that?” It didn’t hurt his feelings. It kind of hurt his feelings.

“Um.” Peter looked so nervous, so Tony tried not to rush him, but god if he wasn’t dying to know why Peter deleted his number. Was it something he did? None of this was making much sense. “Um. Well, I deleted your number, from my phone, so that… Uh. SoIwouldntbetemptedtotextyoustuffishouldnttellyou.”

“Care to repeat that? Slower this time? A little louder?”

Peter’s cheeks turned a darker red and yeah, Tony was worried about his health. He wondered how hot his face would be if he touched it. He was not going to find out, because touching Peter’s face was a bad, inappropriate move, and he knew a move like that could escalate to something even worse and more inappropriate. Which was not something he really wanted to do. Not when Peter was sitting there tied up, god,  _ especially because Peter was sitting there tied up.  _

Peter didn’t repeat it before Steve was finally coming down the stairs, holding a crystal clear glass and the full bottle of whiskey. Tony took the bottle and uncorked it, then glanced at Peter and sighed, pouring himself the alcohol. “Untie him, he’s not a threat to me,” Tony ordered, and he glanced to the side just in time to see Steve’s uneasy look, but to his credit, he didn’t argue, just advanced and reached behind Peter to untie the ropes, letting them fall around Peter’s feet. 

“So, Pete. I won’t ask you to repeat yourself, if you tell me why you’re here - what was it you said? - skulking around outside my front gates?” The grin he gave was playful, and the grin he received was relieved and grateful.

“I came because, well…” Suddenly, spilling the beans didn’t seem so easy, if the look on Peter’s face was anything to go by. His brows furrowed, creating a crease in Peter’s forehead that Tony found himself wanting to kiss away. Okay, thoughts,  _ that _ was bad and inappropriate. The warm honey eyes were turned down, focused on the hands twisting nervously in his lap, and Tony realized suddenly that this wasn’t an ‘I missed you and wanted to visit’ visit. This was important, whatever it was.

“Hey, if you’re not comfortable down here, we can go upstairs. We can sit in my office,” Tony offered, feeling desperate to calm Peter’s poor nerves. To his relief, the boy nodded, and Tony motioned for him to lead the way upstairs. He held his glass and directed Peter through the halls down to his study from behind, putting in the code to his study and ushering Peter inside the room. “Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. Do you want something to drink?”

Peter shook his head, finding a home in the big leather armchair that sat across from the desk. He looked small in the chair, just like he had the first time he’d been sitting there, but Tony didn’t mind it at all. It made the size difference between them just that much more apparent. And he really didn’t need to be thinking about something like that while Peter was sitting there looking like he was. Tony commanded his thoughts back in order and sat in his own chair, relaxing and taking a mouthful of whiskey. So it wasn’t the night he was looking forward to in the car, but it was hard to have a bad time when Peter Parker was involved in any way, he found himself noting. 

Peter declined the offer of whiskey or any other drink, and he seemed to be working himself up to something, so Tony stayed quiet and gave him space, scribbling nothing notes on pieces of scrap paper until Peter cleared his throat. He set his pen down immediately and turned his full attention to the boy.

“So. Um. I lost my job.” Peter’s voice started out confidently, but by the end of the short sentence, it was quiet again. Tony raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t want to assume anything. That could be a segue into anything, Tony really didn’t want to disrupt Peter’s tiny bout of confidence and self esteem he seemed to have going on. So he kept quiet, just motioned for him to continue. “And. Well, I’ve been applying to about a million different places, and none have replied to me, and… and I’m about to lose my apartment, because I can’t pay rent without my job, and…” He trailed off there, looking embarrassed and upset about the situation, and Tony just wanted to circle around his desk and gather him into a tight hug, if it would make him feel better. Tony would do anything to make him feel better.

“What do you need from me, kid?” Yeah, that wasn’t the way to make Peter feel better. It came out rougher than he’d meant it, and Peter seemed to shrink into himself. Before Tony could amend and try again, Peter was speaking again.

“I-I just, I mean, I thought you could… I mean, I don’t know. I just wanted someone to… tell, I guess.” He sounded defeated. Tony waited another second, and Peter sighed softly and uncrossed his arms, gathering his courage. “And I thought maybe you could help.”

Tony shrugged and smiled at Peter, opening his palms invitingly. “Anything you need, Peter. Ask away.”

“Okay. Well… I want a job then, working for you.”

This kid really kept throwing him for a loop. His palms fell face down onto the desk, making a noise that made both of them jump. “Okay. Not anything. Not that. Anything else?”

Peter made a frustrated noise in response. “It doesn’t have to be a job doing anything dangerous-”

“Peter, everything involving me and my work is dangerous. I’m not putting you in danger. Ergo, no job. I can give you a check for a million bucks, you don’t  _ have  _ to work for me.”

“I’m not letting you give me money for no reason! I want to earn it,” Peter said, crossing his arms again, except this time it seemed less defensive and more offensive. It would be cute if it wasn’t directed at Tony. Well, no, not true. It was still cute.

“That’s very noble of you, but no. I said no. And it’s my money, so I can do what I want with it, and what I want is to give it to you because you need it.” 

Peter scowled, and Tony scowled back, though not to the extent he was able and certainly not a colder look than the one he was receiving. It was impressive, and Tony thought that  _ maybe he would be good in the business _ , but then the thought was gone, because there was no way, there was no way he was going to let Peter near his job.

“Come on, Mr Stark, it doesn’t even have to be anything neat. Literally, just… I’ll make you coffee and sandwiches or something. Just give me something. Anything. Please.”

Maybe there was nothing actually suspicious about the request, but Tony had grown up paranoid, so he had to ask. “Why do you want a job so bad? It can’t be just because you can’t accept gifts. If you were really that desperate for the money, you would take it. Why do you want a job so bad?”

This made Peter falter, so Tony laid off for a minute and watched his brain work around the question. Finally, he leaned back and sighed, not meeting Tony’s eyes. “I can’t tell May I don’t have a job. It’ll worry her, and she has enough to worry about with her own job, let alone mine.”

“Why not just lie?” Tony asked, and Peter looked appalled.

“I can’t lie to her! She took me in, raised me, alone for half of it, she’s done the most for me that any parent can do for their child, and you want me to  _ lie  _ to her? About something this important? No way.”

“Again, very noble.” It was meant to be teasing, but not insincere. Certainly not ingenuine. It was incredibly touching that Peter chose to be so honest with his aunt. It made Tony’s heart swell all the more for the kid, and he closed his eyes, thinking hard. He wouldn’t break. He would not let Peter near his line of work. Tony’s entire life was blood and gunpowder and darkness, and Peter was a ray of light, a breath of fresh air and sweetgrass, and Tony was in no mood to sully the fair skin. But he could come up with something, he was sure he could. He was a genius, he could overcome a problem like this no problem, right?

“Well,” he started, his brain working a mile a minute. He didn’t look at Peter, sure it was going to distract him from his thinking. “I have cooks, I don’t need you to make me sandwiches. And I have cleaners, so no go there either.” He wrapped his brain around the problem, thinking hard as he could, before he came up with something. It was a weak starter idea, but it was something, so he smiled at Peter, his mind made up. “Move into the mansion. You’re my new intern.”

Peter’s face twisted into an expression of confusion, and god, if it wasn’t the most adorable thing Tony’s ever seen. “What? Intern for what?”

“It’s a surprise. I expect you to be moved in by noon tomorrow. Until next time, Mr. Parker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my wonderful gf who gave me enough ideas to actually write this chapter. I realized i have no idea where the plot of this is going so i might just say fuck it and start just heavily self indulging from now on. lmk what you think lol or if you have any ideas like. talk to me. my brain is empty.


	8. Chapter 8

Peter was moved in by noon the next day, mostly thanks to Bucky showing up to his apartment at 9 in the morning to get his stuff in the car. Peter, thankfully, had had the good sense to actually pack his stuff up the night before instead of playing the denial game. So despite barely having been awake when Bucky knocked, he was basically ready to go, except for the fact that he was wearing pajamas and his hair looked like he’d just stuck his finger into an electric outlet.

Peter still wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing as Tony’s intern, and although he fully intended to dispute it with the man as soon as he next saw him, he had to admit it was sort of a relief that he apparently had a job now, which meant a steady income again, and, if he thought he knew anything about Tony, that income was going to be very generous. Though hopefully not too generous. With any luck, Tony would let him dispute that as well.

The room Bucky showed him was already fully furnished, with a bed that looked bigger than his entire bedroom at his apartment, and shelves and a dresser and desk all in matching light wood tones. There was nothing personal in the room, but it wasn’t like Peter had expected there to be family photos or whatever already up. It just made the room feel empty despite everything in it. In an attempt to dispel some of that emptiness, he opened his suitcase and dug through it, pulling out a picture and putting it up on one of the shelves. Ben and May and a six year old Peter smiled back at him from the blue frame, and it calmed his nerves a little.

He turned to get on with unpacking his clothes, and was greeted by the woman who he’d met the first time he came to meet Tony. Natalie or something…? Natasha, that was it. The sight of her in the doorway surprised him, and he couldn’t help the startle that rushed through him.

“Oh, hi. Um, you’re quiet,” he said by way of greeting, and folded his hands together, then shoved them into his pockets instead.

This made a ghost of a smile flit across her lips, but the expression was quickly schooled, and Peter found he couldn’t make out a single emotion on her face. It was actually pretty scary, not having a clue what the woman was thinking. He shifted his weight, the uncomfortable silence bearing down on him, but she cleared her throat, breaking through it.

“So. Stark moved you in?” There was a lift to her voice, like it was a question, but it was clearly no question. It was a statement. They both knew Peter was now living in the mansion. He had to wonder if maybe she knew more than he did, though. Did she know why he was now living in the mansion? She seemed like the type of person to know everything and to do anything to know everything. Another scary thing about her. 

He didn’t get the chance to ask, though, because Tony himself came walking down the hallway, wearing clothes that made Peter do a complete double take. Loose, dirty jeans and a faded t-shirt that once held the album cover of a band Peter could barely make out. Certainly a complete 180 from the suits and expensive brand-name clothing he’d always caught Tony in up til now. Somehow, he couldn’t pick which look he liked better.

“Peter! I see you’re making friends with the rest of the staff.” The smile Tony shot them could charm the socks off anyone (it certainly charmed the socks off Peter), but Natasha just took a step back, nodded at Tony and gave Peter another piercing look, before she turned and disappeared down the hallway in the direction Tony had just come from. Peter swallowed, suddenly very aware that it was just the two of them now.

“Uh-” Before he could get much else out, Tony had a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back slightly so he could peek right over his head into the room.

“Finished unpacking? Is this seriously all the stuff you have?”

Peter tried not to take offense to that. “What? No, I’m not- I haven’t even started unpacking. And no, this isn't all my stuff, I packed light.”  _ I wasn’t sure how long I was actually staying. _ The rest of the sentence was left unsaid.

After a minute that made Peter want to crawl into a hole and die, Tony cleared his throat and nodded slightly. “Okay, well, you can worry about it later. Right now, you’re needed downstairs. In the dining room with me for breakfast. Bucky said you said you didn’t eat.”

The tone of Tony’s voice was somewhat accusatory, and again, Peter tried not to take offense to it. “I didn’t really have time, he showed up at my apartment out of nowhere before I even properly woke up.” Then his brain caught up and he realized that he was just told he was going to be eating breakfast, with Tony.  _ Like a date _ , his inner voice supplied, and okay, nope, he had to shut that down. It was not a date. He was eating with his employer. That’s all Tony was.  _ But maybe not all that he would be, _ said the traitorous voice again, and Peter had never wanted to slam his head into a table more than he did right now. Maybe it would shut the voice up.

He didn’t do any head slamming, though, he just quietly followed Tony out the door and through the house til they got to a big room which boasted a huge table that could easily seat ten people or maybe even twelve. There were only two place settings, however, at the head of the table and the seat to the left of it. Tony took the head of the table, as was expected, and Peter rushed to take the other seat, suddenly nervous. He was sitting at a table about to dine with a very notorious crime boss, a man very often referred to as the Merchant of Death, a man so heartless he was called the Iron Man, and yeah, they were going to be eating breakfast, but it was a breakfast after said crime boss  _ hired _ Peter, and he didn’t even know what he was supposed to be doing for the man yet. Oh god, what if this was his final meal? It seemed like a twisted thing to do, but Peter had read of Tony Stark doing much twistier things. 

“Eat up, kid, and we can talk about your job,” Tony said suddenly, grinning, and Peter realized with a start that the food had been served. And it was-

“Waffles?” Peter didn’t know what he’d been expecting when Tony said they were going to be eating breakfast, maybe steak and eggs, or omelettes, or something grown up, not waffles that were sprinkled with icing sugar and were covered in berries.

“Gluten-free,” Tony confirmed, his plate already stacked, his knife already slicing out a bite for him to take.

Well, he could certainly do worse for his last meal.

After breakfast, Peter was led to Tony’s office, where the man flopped into his chair, grabbing a pen to click. He watched Peter as he took his own seat on the other side of the desk, and Peter felt himself begin to sweat. Was he thinking of the best ways to kill him? He really needed to stop thinking that Tony was gonna kill him. Why would he drag it out this long? It was more of an inconvenience than a game, by now, it must have been. But still…?

“So, you wanted a job. I wanted to just give you money, but you said noooo, you needed to ‘earn it’.” The air quotes made it seem deprecating, but Tony was smiling so brightly at him, so Peter didn’t take offense to it. It was hard to take offense when the hottest man in the world is giving you that smile. But anyway.

“So, is this a real job, or are you pretending it’s a job so that you can just give me money?” Peter asked, trying to hide a smile from the man. It seemed like the kind of move Tony would pull.

Tony lifted a hand to his chest and gave Peter a scandalized gasp, pretending to be offended by the accusation. “I would never do such a thing,” he said defensively, in a tone that suggested he would absolutely do such a thing. “This is a real job, and you will earn your salary. And it’s a hard job, so it’s a high salary, and you can’t dispute that because I’m your boss.”

The man looked so damn pleased with himself, and Peter narrowed his eyes. This whole situation seemed fishy to him. “What’s the job then,  _ boss? _ ” he asked suspiciously, crossing his arms. 

Tony sat up straighter and folded his hands together on the desk, grinning a grin so charming Peter had to catch his breath. “You’re going to be my friend.”

The words sank in. “You want me to be your friend?”

“No, you  _ are _ my friend. That’s your job.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Tony. “That’s not a job. You can’t pay me to be your friend, that’s not the way friendship works.” 

That only got a heavy sigh from Tony. “Fine, then, you’re my… partner. Associate. I don’t know, pick a word you like, we can make business cards for you if it’ll make it feel more official to you.”

“What am I even going to do? Don’t you have friends? Why do you need me to move in to be your friend?”

Tony rolled his eyes at Peter. “I don’t need you to move in to be my friend, I need you to move in to be my employee. You wanted a job, I’m giving you a job. It’s not like it’s without work, I mean, you’re gonna have to put up with me.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be tougher than it seems,” Peter mumbled, and with Tony’s answering smile, he understood. “So you want to pay me because you think being your friend is hard.”

“I  _ know _ being my friend is hard. I gotta live with myself 24/7, and that’s hard, and now you’re gonna be living with me too, so. It’ll be hard work, and hard workers get paid. Win-win for everyone. Except that you gotta put up with me.”

“Tony, it’s not that hard to put up with you,” Peter sighed softly, biting his lip as he looked up at the man on the other side of the desk. It was bearing feelings time, apparently. He wasn’t particularly pleased with this, but Tony was being so hard on himself, he felt bad. He wanted to make this man see that he wasn’t impossible, not to Peter, not in the little time they’ve spent together. “I really enjoy spending time with you, actually. You’re not hard to like, at all. I really like you.”

Pause.

Breath.

Blush.

“I-I mean, like, not,  _ like _ like, I  _ like  _ you plenty, but not, like, you know,  _ like  _ you. I like you as a  _ friend _ ,” Peter stammered out, trying to amend his statement. His face was burning, and he was sure he looked like a tomato, which was probably unattractive, but it’s fine, it’s not like he wanted Tony to think he was attractive. Well, he didn’t want Tony to think he was unattractive, but he didn’t want Tony to  _ like _ like him, because he didn’t  _ like _ like Tony, so he didn’t want to hurt his feelings. That was all. That was it.

Tony was grinning at Peter, but it wasn’t a mean smile. He looked happy, and kind, and Peter suddenly felt a little less embarrassed.

“I like you too, Peter. So, do we have a deal?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no homo lmao


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im back i hate this chapter but i wanted to get something out for you before it got too long. i don't know if im going through a rough patch again or what but im gonna try and write more. i don't think there's gonna be too much of a plot anymore. might just start bein two fools in love. who knows. please feel free to yell at me for taking too long with this shit

Peter discovered within the week that the job definitely wasn’t a job at all. He didn’t do anything. He was given a sketched map of the mansion with a bunch of places marked off (“do NOT go there, off limits, if I find you in there I WILL kill you.” The threat seemed sort of empty, because Tony was kind of smirking when he said it, but Peter wasn’t certain enough to test out that hypothesis.) and he was required to eat meals with Tony when he was actually around to eat meals, but other than that he was left to his own devices.

He spent the first few days getting his stuff unpacked into his room and getting himself accustomed to the mansion. He was a quick learner and it wasn’t a very hard floorplan to memorize, so that was simple. By the end of the fourth day, Peter was bored out of his mind and  _ gagging _ for something to do.

He didn’t expect that something to come in the form of a gun, but it did. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised (look who he was living with).

“You wanna come learn how to shoot a gun?”

Peter had been laying across his bed, watching a spider make a web in the tree outside his window. It wasn’t terribly interesting, but it was better than watching his ceiling or something. It was, actually, a little bit cool, but Peter would take anything over doing that for a minute more. He lifted his head, trying to remember the name of the man standing in his doorway. Clint?

“Uh, what?”

Clint grinned at Peter’s apparent confusion and nodded his head down the hallway. “Yeah, you do. Get some shoes on and come outside to the back. Hurry up, I won’t wait around all day for you.”

Peter got up, frowning a little to himself as he pulled on some sneakers and made his way outside. He was going to learn how to shoot a gun, apparently. He wondered if this was just Clint giving him something to do, or if Tony wanted him to learn. If it was the latter, he wondered if there was an ulterior motive. There probably was. He stepped out into the backyard, which really was no less than just a huge field. It had a few targets set up, but Peter stepped toward the table where Clint was standing, laying out a handful of different types of guns. Peter honestly didn’t know the first thing about guns, but he was willing to learn if someone was willing to teach him. The way he saw it, was that it must be at least a little bit dangerous to be in such close proximity to a mob boss, whether the danger came from outside or from Tony himself. So it wouldn’t hurt to learn how to protect himself. Plus, it was something to do.

Clint looked up at Peter as he approached, and he broke into a grin. “Didn’t take you very long. I thought you were gonna drag your feet.”

His tone wasn’t particularly laughing, but Clint was still grinning, so Peter decided to take it as a tease. He laughed, maybe a little awkwardly, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “So… shooting a gun?”

“Yeah. But no.” Clint pulled Peter away from the table, like he was worried he was just going to grab a gun and fire it. Yeah, Peter wasn’t that stupid, thanks. “First, safety. And then stance. And then maybe you can get a gun in your hand.”

Clint talked for hours it seemed, but Peter was interested enough to pay attention. He  _ was _ interested. He wanted to learn all this stuff. He wasn’t so interested in the safety aspects but he knew it was important in the grand scheme of guns so he listened and learned to whatever Clint thought necessary to teach him, and after what felt like six hours (it really was only barely two hours), he was being guided in the proper way to stand, and then Clint was putting a gun into his hands. Before he had the chance to even lift it, however, they were interrupted by the head of the house himself.

Tony was walking along the stone path toward them, looking effortlessly attractive as always. Peter nearly dropped the gun in his moment of distraction, and that would have been awful, but he couldn’t even think about the repercussions because Tony’s shirt was so tight he could probably trace the veins in his biceps (which were being hugged marvelously by the tight fabric). Peter lifted his hand to his chin in what he hoped was a very subtle check for drool. Jesus, he was  _ living _ with this guy. He couldn’t even try not to be attracted to him when he looked like that.

Peter realized with a start that Tony and Clint were having a conversation, so he tuned back in quickly before he embarrassed himself even further, if that were even possible.

“A gun, already? It’s only been one morning,” Tony was laughing, and Peter’s crush-muddled brain desperately tried to commit the sight and sound to memory.

Clint shrugged, leaning against the table and crossing his arms. “He’s a fast learner. Like, seriously. I don’t think anyone has ever been  _ that  _ interested in gun safety.” They were both laughing now, glancing at Peter, and he couldn’t decide if it was at his expense, but he didn’t want to appear stuck up or anything so he laughed too. There was a twinkle of something in Tony’s eyes as he looked at Peter, and he worked overtime trying to decipher it. Amusement? Was laughing the right move, then? Or was it pity, because Peter was too dense to realize he was the butt of the joke? Annoyance, because Peter was just that - annoying? He had to stop thinking, he knew that, he was going to think himself right into a corner if he kept on like this, but he couldn’t quiet his mind and relax, not with Tony standing right there.

“Well, I’m pleased, anyway. A quick learner. That’s a promising quality, Pete.” Tony smiled at Peter, and just like that all the self doubt flushed itself right out of his system. He smiled back at Tony and rocked on his heels a little, happy Tony seemed happy with him. Still, he wondered, promising for what? Was Tony just talking in general? Being a fast study was a promising quality in and of itself, Peter knew, but was Tony talking about something specific? A job, or maybe something else? Something a little less PG rated, something - okay, he really, really needed to stop thinking lest he pop a boner in the middle of his and Clint’s lesson. That would really be unfortunate.

He took a deep breath and schooled his thoughts, smiling at the two taller men before he turned right around to look at the targets, giving him a moment to calm down and maybe cool down. He certainly needed it. He did his best to block out the rest of the conversation, thinking about guns and gun safety and everything Clint had taught him while he waited for Tony to go so he would stop thinking about dropping to his knees in front of him or something. He really had to get this crush under control. Peter had to make a face at himself. Calling it a crush seemed so middle school, but he couldn’t think of what else to call it. It certainly wasn’t love, it couldn’t be, but it wasn’t just lust either. A crush was the best thing Peter could call it, and besides, it wasn’t like there were any mind readers who could judge him for calling it a crush, so he could bear it alone. Anyway, he had it get it under control, because so far he turned into a tomato whenever Tony smiled at him, even if he could relax after a while enough to look at him without wanting to melt. Still, his brain was constantly overrun with praise toward the man and he worried that his clumsy tongue would let something slip sooner or later, which was really not something he wanted to happen. At all. His  _ crush _ on Tony was for him and him alone. 


	10. Chapter 10

It’s been a while since Peter had moved in, and Tony had to admit, it was  _ distracting. _ He was still getting his work done as usual, nothing could distract him from that (Peter probably could, but Tony wasn’t willing to test that out) but every other moment was spent thinking about his “intern”. It was hard not to think about him. Not only was he seriously attractive, but he was a breath of fresh air from all the assassins on his team. And he was funny, and he always had something to talk about, and Tony found himself just enjoying life when Peter was around, in a way he felt he hadn’t done in a long time. So yeah, all in all a difficult task to not let his mind wander toward the young man.

Speaking of. Lunchtime. Tony had lunch to eat with Peter. He left his suit jacket on his desk and made his way to the dining room, where Peter was already sitting, staring out the window with a faraway look. He wasn’t paying attention, so Tony took the opportunity to admire the boy. He was sitting in the sunlight and it made him glow, as cliche as that sounded. He was so pretty. Tony could feel his brain regressing back to second grade, having a crush on the prettiest girl in the class. He shook the stupid thoughts out of his mind - it really wasn’t the same at all.  
“Peter,” he said, a smile in his voice as he resumed his way to his seat.

Peter’s head snapped to attention, but he relaxed after a half second and grinned up at Tony, a blinding smile that made Tony’s head spin. Again with the cliches. He needed a drink. “Tony! Hi, how was your morning? Mine was so good! Me and Clint worked more on shooting, and I actually hit the target! I did pretty well, he said! And then-”  
Peter ended up giving Tony a full itinerary of his morning, but Tony really didn’t mind. He liked knowing what was going on in his house, and he liked knowing Peter was happy even more. It was nice to hear that he was happy in the house. He watched Peter babble, smiling along and commenting where he could, and when lunch came, he prodded Peter’s fork and it was enough of a reminder for the boy to take a breath and take a bite. While he chewed, Tony smiled at him.  
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself here,” he said softly, and he shared a smile with Peter. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” He took stock of the way Peter straightened up to listen, and it made him feel warm. He was so sweet. “I’ve been invited to another stupid party, and they’re the bane of my existence, seriously, but I think it would be less awful if you were there.” It was a sort of backwards invitation, but Peter’s eyes lit up and he grinned at Tony.

“Like… as your…?” Peter trailed off, and Tony realized he was meant to fill in the blank. But there were a lot of words that could finish that sentence and Tony wasn’t sure which one Peter wanted to hear. Date? Tony might have thought about it as a date, except they definitely weren’t there yet, maybe they’d never be there, and he didn’t want to overstep. Colleagues, but they weren’t colleagues. Tony hesitated, then decided just to play it safe.  
“As my intern.” He looked at Peter carefully, and thought that was definitely the wrong answer, by the way Peter dimmed the tiniest bit. “My friend.” It was a big jump from intern, but Peter’s smile returned and Tony rested easy. They were friends. It wasn’t where Tony necessarily wanted to be in Peter’s life, but he would settle for it happily.  
“Yeah, it sounds fun,” Peter said cheerfully, and Tony shook himself out of his thoughts and smiled back at the boy.  
“These parties are barely fun. You get dressed up, go be bored to death by old rich people, drink and eat. Sometimes there’s an auction, but I don’t think this one does.”

Peter laughed at the description and sipped his water. “Why do you go if you hate them so much? I mean, couldn’t you just not go? Surely you don’t have to go to all of them all the time.”

Tony shrugged at this, and shot Peter a smirk over the rim of his glass. “They’re for charity, and I’m a very charitable person. I’m invited because I donate the largest amounts of money, because I’m fucking rich.”

“And modest.” Peter’s laugh was like music to Tony’s ears, and he never wanted it to stop. But watching the pretty boy, he couldn’t bring his brain to think of something witty and funny to respond, so he just made a noise of agreement, flashed a grin, and took a big bite of food so he would be let off the hook from replying. They ate in silence, while Tony did everything in his power to not just stare at Peter while he ate - it wasn’t like it was his fault, the younger man was just so captivating in everything he did, and he barely seemed to realize it. Tony felt like he could study him for hours.

“When is it?” Peter asked, once they were finished eating and just sipping down the last of their drinks. “The party,” he clarified, catching Tony’s inquisitive look in his direction.

“The party - oh, it’s this evening. I like to show up late, just catch the tail end of all the socialization and sit through dinner and the speeches, if there are any.” 

“What do I wear?” was Peter’s next question. Tony asked if he had a suit, and Peter’s hesitant yes was enough to tell Tony that it was probably a suit that was on the cheaper side, maybe even a hand-me-down. There was no way it would be tailored, and they both knew a suit like that would stick out like a sore thumb amongst the other guests.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have someone pick something up for you, it’ll be dropped off before we leave.” A generous action, yes, and not without reason. He didn’t want Peter to feel uncomfortable in a cheap suit when everyone else would likely be wearing designer, it would hurt his reputation if he showed up with a young boy in a poorly made suit that cost less than $100. It didn’t concern Tony too much, but he knew people in his corner would be very unhappy with him, namely one Pepper Potts. Tony wasn’t in the habit of making Pepper unhappy. But there was an underlying part of him that was very pleased he was able to buy Peter something. Sure, he really could get him anything at anytime, but he didn’t want to scare him away, and constantly gifting things he didn’t ask for was probably a surefire way to do just that. But this way, there was a reason to do it, both of them were in agreement on it, and Tony could spend as much money as he wanted on this and Peter would really have no way to deny the gift. It was a primal part of him that just wanted to see the boy draped in his money.

Nearing dinnertime, Tony let Peter know they were going to be leaving soon, so get ready to go. Peter showered, and he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the evening. He was excited, of course, to spend time with Tony, to experience the kind of life the older man had, to be able to feel rich if just for a few hours. But he was so nervous, his stomach was twisting itself up in knots and leaping into his throat. These were real rich people, and he was most certainly not rich, and he didn’t know how he should act around them. He worried they would be able to tell he wasn’t ‘one of them’, and that would make them all hate him. He probably worried too much about it, surely it didn’t matter this much, but he was still terrified for it. Still, he tried to focus on his excitement about Tony while he dried himself off and squeezed water out of his hair. No matter what happened with everyone else, it was going to be a good night with Tony. Even if he was just going as his friend. Peter could deal with that. Being friends with Tony was better than being nothing to him.

He stepped out of his bathroom and was immediately taken aback. As promised, the suit had been delivered, but Peter had not been expecting something like this. It was dark and it looked simple, but upon closer inspection, he could see the threading was glittery and it added a little something extra to the fabric. He smoothed a hand over the fabric and smiled - it felt so nice. It felt so  _ expensive _ . He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how expensive it really was. He made sure he was completely dry before even lifting it off the bed, really not wanting to ruin it before they even left the house.

Looking in the mirror with the outfit on, he didn’t even look like himself. This was the nicest thing Peter had ever worn, had ever even touched, or been in the same vicinity as, and it was messing with his head. But he liked it, a lot. He looked good. He struck a few poses, smiling at himself in the mirror, feeling like an absolute dork, but looking absolutely amazing. He didn’t want to think about how much this probably cost, so he forced himself  _ not _ to think about it, and stepped out of the room, almost right into Tony himself, which he definitely hadn’t been expecting. Tony hadn’t expected him to come out either, if the look on his face was any indication.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize you were… standing right there,” Peter said softly, trying not to blush but knowing he was probably turning into a cherry tomato. 

Tony just smiled though, brushing it off gracefully. “No problem, kid. I just wanted to come make sure you were doing alright with the outfit,” he said, and the look he gave Peter made his stomach churn in a wonderful, full-of-butterflies sort of way. “I see you’ve figured it out just fine on your own. You look good, Pete.”

Peter glanced down at himself, mostly to try and hide his face. He was so flustered and Tony just told him he  _ looked good _ , which was definitely due to the suit and not himself, most definitely, anyone would look good in a suit like this. Looking down made him notice Tony’s suit, and god, if his mouth watered that was his business, keep your nose out of it, thank you very much. Tony looked more gorgeous than usual, if that was even possible. Peter’s brain just about short-circuited when he realized their suits were similar, not matching but with enough resemblances to be able to tell that they were definitely meant to be a pair. It made those butterflies in Peter’s stomach start doing loop-de-loops.

In all that time, Peter failed to notice Tony waiting for an answer to the compliment, and when he didn’t offer anything, the man just took a breath and nodded, then extended his arm. “Shall we? Don’t want to be late.”

Peter’s brain cooperated this time, and he nodded and slipped his arm though Tony’s, allowing himself to be led down the stairs and out the front doors, where there was a fancy car waiting for them, with a driver and everything. Peter was still slightly taken aback how  _ much _ this was, despite having been here for a while now. Chauffeured vehicles, designer suits, an  _ event _ for rich people? Never mind the detail of Tony’s line of work, this was exciting enough without even thinking about the crime part of it all. Someone held the door open and Tony motioned for Peter to slide in first, and slide he did, and wow. The inside of the car was not what Peter had been expecting - leather and crystals and something that was so shiny he could practically see his reflection in it. There was a partition or something between the front and back seats, so Peter couldn’t see out the windshield, but he wasn’t looking anyway because there was a fridge and a tv back here. Peter hadn’t thought that this was a limousine, but he didn’t know regular cars could have fridges in them. 

“This is incredible, Tony,” Peter whispered, and Tony just laughed, and gave him a smile that might be condescending on another person, but it looked sincere on Tony.

“I guess you haven’t been in this car yet, have you? There’s a lot of things you haven’t done yet with us,” he said, his tone musingly, and Peter couldn’t help it as his heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t like he expected himself to just be tossed out eventually, but Tony’s words and his tone promised at least a while longer, a little longer that he got to stay with the man, in the mansion, experiencing this life he never would have dreamed he would get to experience with the literal man of his dreams, someone that dominated most of his thoughts - embarrassing. Peter shook his head and tried to force a casual look on his face - it wasn’t like Tony needed to know what he was thinking. In fact, he was rather glad he couldn’t understand what Peter was thinking, because if that were the case, he was sure he’d probably be on his ass on the curb, like, last week.

The ride was quiet, which Peter was grateful for, because he wasn’t sure if he could speak at a normal octave. Or if he could speak at all. He felt nervous, more nervous than he ever had in his life. Which probably says something about him, if he’s more nervous about going to a party than he is about literally living with a crime lord. Oh well. That’s a detail he doesn’t really want to think about, and thankfully the drive is short, because soon they’re pulling up in front of a very nice building that Peter was pretty sure was a museum of some sort.

Before the door was opened for them, Tony reached over to touch Peter’s knee, getting his attention. Peter chooses to ignore the zap of electricity that coursed through him at the touch, he probably made it up anyway. Right?

“So, I think it probably goes without saying, but when we’re in there, I’m not Tony Stark, Crime Lord, Merchant of Death, alright? I’m Tony Stark, owner of Stark Industries, a tech company.”

“Right,” Peter murmured in response, trying to memorize what he was just told. Obviously, Tony wouldn’t just go in guns blazing, telling everyone he’s rich because he runs a section of New York’s underworld. Obviously. Peter hadn’t thought about it, and he was glad Tony actually told him before he ended up being asked and making a mistake. Of course Tony would remember to tell him.

With that settled, Tony slipped out of the car and smiled at Peter, helping him out of the car as well and offering him his arm, which Peter took half gratefully, half nervously, and they turned toward the sweeping staircase to the party waiting for them.


End file.
